I’ve been saving a hearthstone in a hope chest

Treasure gleaned from a home of boxes and empty pockets


Dwelling in possibility left my soul looking

For the space to build a house around itself —

A ghost in the negative space between traditions

Waiting for the seasons to link together and

Dreaming of rituals never witnessed

Afraid of plastic household gods


You hammered the hope chest and burned it as kindling

The old gods died and I smoked a hall pass outside

There are no gods but I sipped nepenthe in bed

Let’s build a fire hot enough to melt photos and walls and glass and bone

And my stone — One that burns off the old dreams with

Fire so high sparks dance over Olympus

The thread that holds the family is fireproof

Take the end I’m holding out to you

Carve new molds and cast new seasons

Rebuild with metals that flex and wood that warms

Fire in the mountain only skims the walls


And I will be your Venus but

I am also the hearth laid ready for fire


About pantsinspace

I'm an inch deep and a mile wide. Not literally. But literarily, sure.
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One Response to Bond

  1. Pingback: Updated Stages of Grieving for Middle-Aged Empty Nesters Who Get Dumped in Mid-February | unfrozen cavelizard

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