Kindling

When fires burn too hot, too fast

they die out

left without oxygen

and foliage to burn —

The wood was too loosely packed,

the pine too thin and dry

without a solid foundation to build upon,

and no nice, hard wood

to foster a slow, hot burn.

We were too eager

for it to work this once

that we didn’t invest the time

into making it sustainable

and here we stand

a wildfire now out of hand

when we could’ve worked up to it

could’ve maintained our friendship,

rather than fitting a circle

inside of a square

in the hopes that it would grow edges

we would still be here

tending this fire

yet we are racing

to find shelter in opposite directions

quick to get away from each other,

and all the destruction we’ve released.

Walking would’ve been okay

taking our time to find

a space where a little spark

wouldn’t cast flames astray

and burnt up this whole place

when did you realize that your feet were not solid?

that they were shaking in the ground?

the false clarity of yourself

came crashing down

as fiery limbs of a tree

in a burning forest

You set yourself aflame, because

you didn’t do the work to get to this space,

you came half-full of memories

of a broken childhood,

dispersed family,

and liquid solutions

that you never lost the taste for

you made it unbearable to stay here

with your sharp criticisms

and impulsive decisions

that didn’t include the preservation of the land

that is my body and the temple that is my mind

a small fire would’ve been enough

to kinder the growth of our spirits

and now we’ve let this forest burn

ashes and ashes and ashes

from which we cannot return