Love and Other Fire Hazards
by Shelley Valdez
this morning i woke up wanting
to tell you that i am a burning house
a lightning
stovetop disaster a sound
with no alarms
maybe at first i was a city
and maybe the Almighty wanted me damned
maybe i am a hazard and a place
where nothing grows but still
i’ve found a willow who would weep for me
who lets our limbs turn to trees
imagines us blooming
when the sunlight makes shapes
at our elbows and the sheets
grow too warm for our skin
you ask me if i want
to get Fancy Coffee and the answer
is Always Yes
is Always Yes
later,
near the swing set
near the railroad
near the memorials lining the freeway
we ring invisible doorbells at the playground
you are the strange and sudden mailman
i am the girl who invites you to stay
and while we stroll past slides and awnings
and build homes from plastic roofs
i want to tell you of the space
my pulse will make for you how yes
that is the living room and yes
it’s filled with flames
but if you wanted to dance
i’d still let you
wreck the furniture
and as we press our palms
to our centers and imagine
the songs that could sleep there
i wonder how to tell you how
the last person who fit my head
against their heartbeat
burned my bones
and burst my vessels
with the same hands
but you assemble
the stars in my bedroom you
offer your wrists
for glitter and ink you
drink the sparks
that line your coffee cup and taste only sacredness
how uncanny, and how grateful
i am to be the fire
you walk through anyway to know a
love a feeding inferno
love a tender severity
love the storm
and the shelter
all at once