What Am I?

Photo will not help! Simply Spring....

WHAT AM I?

I am fired and fuelled in a brick-lined box.

I devour everything, but I prefer the snap

and crackle of twig and the taste of black bog.

Coal raises my pulse, makes me fart and hiss and spit

cracks my bone and scorches my skin, leaves scars

like efflorescence and keyholes that flicker

and glyphs that beg answers.

Dogs lie at my feet, their snouts a hairline

fractured width from singe.

Women curl their toes next to me.

Hang their smalls to dry on my frame.

Some of these I scorch

Just for the hell of it

And to let them know

I’m no pushover…

Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016