the wild perhaps
Updated: Apr 8, 2019
i opened up the drawer— where my will-o’-the-wisps sleep letting my fingers feel for the frayed edges of a small gauze parcel, i unbound the wrappings, exposing scraps of soot covered snippets within-- i held each tender bit of earth, one by one, kissing the blackened edges, carbon powder on my lips, evidence of what might have been and what almost was-- miscarriages of nascent wishes.
oh how i tried to fan that bark and those sticks of elm and birch, turning myself inside out, willing them with clenched fists to burn, cupping my moist breath between raw hands, breathing (as if i could)-- life into the embers which glowed, then quickly smoldered and did not alight, too wet and green then to flame, do you remember?
i’ve saved just one more audacious thought it’s here, tucked away inside my carboard box of hope—
should i light it now?
withered and brown and past all chance, i lean into the wild perhaps that these kindling of dreams, have one more chance in them to burn ablaze, though surely the hour has grown too late for me? but not, maybe, for you. - j. avellana