boggoddess

[boggoddess]

Summer Solstice:

1. You’re singing about the bonfire, and the bonfire makes itself known to you. From over the hills comes a roaring flame, a pillar of biblical beauty; black ash on black skies, born of black ritual too unknowable to name. The darkness should trouble you, fill your belly with fear. But all you can see is a blaze of blinding light.

2. How do we know the sun will rise in the morning? How do we know the dawn won’t give up halfway?

3. Boy. Boy with fucked up teeth, with cigarette-hole lips and callused fingertips. Boy with ringed hands scuffed and dark curls tamped down. Boy who wafts gasoline downwind of firelight, whose kisses burn with matchstick certainty. Boy forgotten. Man remembered.

4. The sun, she comes to rise after all. But when the dawn spills upon bone char and ash, there is a little bit less of her to reveal the entire truth. The light only falls on what is easiest for the eyes to accept.

5. Man remembered. Boy buried.

6. Maybe it’s a moonlike truth; part of it never revealed. Perhaps it’s better this way. Boy hands burn imprints into too-thin skin, but nothing too deep to keep you from cutting it out. I love you can be unsaid with a sharp enough knife.

7. The bonfire blaze dies. The ash still glows on. Some sinful part of you may never stamp it out.

- m.m.h.

#poetry #prose #original poetry #mmh poetry #ask to rb #original prose #190622