“pillar of fire” by Julia in the fishbowl

Friday January 31, 2020
3:30pm
5 minutes
Night and Moonlight
Henry David Thoreau

I built a structure with five fine pillars
and I was open about which they were
one day I left and I thought I’d tell them
that I was happy knowing they were there

I reached into the purse that held all my
vulnerability and I gave it to them first
before they could steer a different way
and I was speaking from the heart and it
would have been nice to hear but some of
the pillars proved themselves made of fire
when they laughed at my open pumping thing

My first lessons of being brave were met
with angry flames and I was burned first
even though inside I was bursting into
someone I could rely on for a million years
I still fell down into the ashes and held
my own when the whole world crashed

The structure wasn’t built to last with the
strongest ones and I found out the hard way
that buildings take a long time and when
you think you know someone you better ask
again just in case, just in case you use
your hopes to do the hammering

I don’t throw out words like that anymore
these days I keep some things in

“The fires were still smouldering” by Julia on her couch

Thursday January 9, 2020
11:33am
5 minutes
The Known World
Edward P. Jones

The haze we’re breathing is a filter on the known world.
The daily dos and don’ts.
The run and hide or stay lows.

Babies are inhaling against their will.
Animals are being wiped out.

Some people don’t think the issue is connected.
Some people would rather focus on the strength
of the inhabitants being weakened.

Will the dying lungs be as resilient?
Will the buried come back to stand on their country’s podium?

While we’re gathered on the beach with our
hearts in our mouths
covered in ash and soot
inching closer to the waves
a long siren blares.

We wish we could say it was in the distance.
We wish we could say it was only one
and not one after another after another.

We are accepting prayers
and money
and help
and
and
and

“He straightened up, roaring” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Friday September 27, 2019
9:41pm
5 minutes
Surface Detail
Iain M. Banks

His strange hurting is not mine to hold alone now
one way of building the house brick by brick
choosing the funny and misshapen ones
the burnt ones choosing the faceless and the wild
When I first met him I felt his way and I didn’t like it
Too much too close to leery to curious too much too much
I am a softer kind of animal
When I met him for the second time I did like it
I was ready for the rumble then around that long table
ready for the way these waves would crash against
the side of reality and wish and trust and begin again

Now meeting him for the millionth time
my mind still isn’t made up and maybe it isn’t about the mind
maybe it isn’t even about the heart
a five letter word overused to the point of letting the blood out
maybe it is about the guts that circle around the centre of the body
the body knows the body doesn’t forget the body keeps a tally
of all the doings and undoings

Earthquake comes when we are least expecting
we are not the choosers of the timing of the bricks turning
to sand turning to ash turning to memory