Jan 2016
Three knocks on the door.
My time is up.
People say no one is ever forced to the stake
That every victim goes willingly
Walking with firm step toward their fiery fate
And no one knows why.
The few of us that remain stay out of sight
Hidden in basements, in attics, in darkened storage rooms
Hardly daring to move, desperate to avoid drawing any attention from them.
Legends say they are the ones who have gone to the stake
And endured its fiery embrace
Stepping forth, reborn,
To draw out those who are left
As offerings to the flame as well
Whether that is true I cannot say
But I have heard the shrieks from that dreadful pyre
(Of agony or ecstasy, I cannot say)
And have no desire to be the next victim
The handle turns, the door creaks open
Light footsteps brush along the floor
I try to curl inward on myself, shrink into my corner of the attic
And the footsteps stop
And into the silence she speaks
For a fight I was prepared
For search and struggle and seizure
But the words, leaving her lips
Dart throughout the house, up the stairs
Past all my defenses and find me cowering in the corner--
Words not of stakes and fire and burning
But of life and laughter
Charming little fellows, they take me by the hands
Effortlessly navigating in reverse
Every trap and alarm I had so carefully placed
Leading me down the stairs
Step
By step
As we near the bottom, I can see a ring of light on the floor
A torch, surely, to illuminate the way in this darkened abode
Eyes downcast, my feet leave the last step
Finding purchase on the rough stone floor
There is no torch
A pair of bare feet enter my vision and I realize
The warm glow cast all around
Comes directly from her
In shock my eyes snap upwards to meet hers
Twin suns, radiant skin, framed by living, flowing flame
A warm, inviting smile
And in that moment I am lost
I know now why there is no struggle
Why each victim freely chooses the stake and the fire
I take her now outstretched hand
Almost--but not quite--too hot to bear
And begin my journey
Toward the stake
The flame
And her embrace
My time is up.
People say no one is ever forced to the stake
That every victim goes willingly
Walking with firm step toward their fiery fate
And no one knows why.
The few of us that remain stay out of sight
Hidden in basements, in attics, in darkened storage rooms
Hardly daring to move, desperate to avoid drawing any attention from them.
Legends say they are the ones who have gone to the stake
And endured its fiery embrace
Stepping forth, reborn,
To draw out those who are left
As offerings to the flame as well
Whether that is true I cannot say
But I have heard the shrieks from that dreadful pyre
(Of agony or ecstasy, I cannot say)
And have no desire to be the next victim
The handle turns, the door creaks open
Light footsteps brush along the floor
I try to curl inward on myself, shrink into my corner of the attic
And the footsteps stop
And into the silence she speaks
For a fight I was prepared
For search and struggle and seizure
But the words, leaving her lips
Dart throughout the house, up the stairs
Past all my defenses and find me cowering in the corner--
Words not of stakes and fire and burning
But of life and laughter
Charming little fellows, they take me by the hands
Effortlessly navigating in reverse
Every trap and alarm I had so carefully placed
Leading me down the stairs
Step
By step
As we near the bottom, I can see a ring of light on the floor
A torch, surely, to illuminate the way in this darkened abode
Eyes downcast, my feet leave the last step
Finding purchase on the rough stone floor
There is no torch
A pair of bare feet enter my vision and I realize
The warm glow cast all around
Comes directly from her
In shock my eyes snap upwards to meet hers
Twin suns, radiant skin, framed by living, flowing flame
A warm, inviting smile
And in that moment I am lost
I know now why there is no struggle
Why each victim freely chooses the stake and the fire
I take her now outstretched hand
Almost--but not quite--too hot to bear
And begin my journey
Toward the stake
The flame
And her embrace
