Cooling Embers
Learning to Burn Clean

My husband is a bit of a pyromaniac.
We couldn’t get insurance
On our wedding barbeque
Because he’s known in town
For his conflagrations.
.
We nod.
We know the risks.
We live it,
His constant pursuit
Of fire.
.
Lucky for me, I think,
Tucking the insurance rejection under my arm,
That this man loves to watch things burn
When I, myself,
am flame.
.
I didn’t know,
For a long time,
Why everything I touched
Lit up, brilliant and bright,
For a moment,
Then left me with a handful of soot.
.
I watched in horror
as friends came to me,
Moths,
Drawn to warmth and light,
Then fell back,
reeling,
Scorched palms blistered,
The hem of their sweater smoking.
.
What was I doing wrong?
I thought I was just
Being.
.
Then I saw,
one night in an open field,
How my husband looked at me,
While I danced in the dark,
Saw the reflection of flame
In his eyes,
And I realized,
I was ablaze.
.
Perhaps I should have seen it before,
But I had been a little busy,
Consuming everything,
As fire always does.
.
I did not see,
That the tequila burning
Down my throat
Was gasoline dumped on a hearth fire.
.
It let me dance
Atop a pile of charred trash,
It made me hot enough to burn
The noncombustible.
.
I let it help me move,
I let it ruin
Me.
.
Then we took away the fuel,
And I find myself suddenly
Still.
.
Embers smoldering
against the dark night,
fading,
cooling.
.
I worry I will be extinguished.
A charred spot of grass
Where once
I roared.
.
My friends huddle
a little closer around me,
Less afraid
Now that I am not fit to erupt
In any direction
At any time.
.
They worry about me,
But also,
They have things they need burned.
.
They hope
I am normal
Tomorrow.
.
My husband sits
Long after they’ve left,
And he tells me a story
Of what a radiant fire I can be,
I sweat caustic smoke into the starry sky.
.
My friends will come back,
Most of them, anyway,
Bearing fresh wood and love,
Ready to help me
burn clean.
.
But tonight,
I let the old version of me sputter
And fade.
.
Tonight,
I let the fire
Die.
About the Creator
Aubrey Rebecca
My writing lives in the liminal spaces where memoir meets myth, where contradictions—grief/joy, addiction/love, beauty/ruin—tangle together. A Sagittarius, I am always exploring, searching for the story beneath the story. IG: @tapestryofink
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Comments (6)
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