Friday, March 6, 2015

Up in Flames













Smoke obscures my vision.
It burns my nose.
This is not the pleasant smoke of
a winter bonfire.
I fan my hand in a vain attempt
to find fresh air.
This is how I destroy things.
My hope of being the mother
I've always wanted to be,
of making a difference,
of changing the world.
My dreams always end up
going up in flames.
My eyes tear up from
smoke? Sadness?
Wiping away the tears
I bring myself back to reality.
This is just dinner.
I've burnt dinner before.

(Written 3.6.15)

5 comments:

  1. Mistakes will be made. Dinners will be burned. (I've ruined many ...) And there is always tomorrow. A new day to try our best again -- to make a difference and change the world, one day at a time!

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  2. You have a beautiful voice in this piece, contrasting deep fears with gentle realities. Thank you for sharing your talent!

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  3. This is such a neat slice. (Sorry about dinner). loved the rhythm and style.

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  4. Better dinner than dreams, for sure!

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  5. Being a fine mom and making dinner need not be connected. We can disconnect the two, not make one mean more that it ever has to.
    I feel the pain and uncertainty as I read this powerful piece.

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