The lump of coal my parents teasedI'd find in my Christmas stockingturned out each year to be an orange,for I was their sunshine.
Now I have one C. gave me,a dense node of sleeping fire.
I keep it where I read and write."You're on chummy terms with dread,"it reminds me. "You kiss ambivalenceon both cheeks.
But if you close yourheart to me ever I'll wreathe you in flamesand convert you to energy."I don't know what C. meant me to mindby her gift, but the sun returnsunbidden.
Books get read and written.
My mother comes to visit.
My father'sdead.
Love needs to be set alightagain and again, and in thanksfor tending it, will do its verybest not to consume us.
Anonymous submission.
