Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
The unknown clawed and grasped, and the war beckoned that much closer. Maybe she’d felt somewhat out of it, skirting and floating by, tending to her own affairs and adventures, rather than adhering to the ominous beacons. That it hit and pummeled and bombarded this close to home, in family, burst the bubble and left her fingers tightening on the handle.
Does one mourn an individual that was due to come back? Did she make him a lantern? What was the protocol for immortality? All the people she’d lost had never returned.
She bit down on her lip, miring and mooring herself along the fiery pits and the maelstrom below. The honeybee felt like an errant tide, washed ashore with no real anchor; adrift and nothing. “Okay,” she softened, as if trying to puzzle through the murk. “What about the kids? And where are you staying?”
Does one mourn an individual that was due to come back? Did she make him a lantern? What was the protocol for immortality? All the people she’d lost had never returned.
She bit down on her lip, miring and mooring herself along the fiery pits and the maelstrom below. The honeybee felt like an errant tide, washed ashore with no real anchor; adrift and nothing. “Okay,” she softened, as if trying to puzzle through the murk. “What about the kids? And where are you staying?”
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
