Her House was on fire
by Gwyneth Morrissey
So much madness in that alluring House.
With its freshly painted shutters,
Tinted porcelain windows that had once
Reflected back the light I poured in.
With its fixed door, whose hinges
Refuse to forgive or let go.
All to hide that sunken soul within: a feral furnace.
Now lit up by hysteric flames,
Devouring Her inside out.
It's not the House’s fault,
Having been set ablaze. Still—
I must not enter. Or I, too, will burn.
No amount of tender tears wept
Will put out your fragile flames.
The more I try to smother those savage sparks,
The brighter they grow.
My skin begins to sizzle—
breaking apart, withering away.
Fumes suffocate more with every mouthful.
For that, I choose to watch you burn from afar.
From the comfort of another House— a Home.
My own Home, where I know
The sprouts I've planted and begun to nourish
With those same tender tears will grow