Conflagration

Your hands in mine should stop feeling
so much like a conflagration
as if the old birches clinging to the mountainside
after a drought, three months with
soap shavings & subway tracks in place of clouds,
dust settling in crevices between ticking afternoons
tossed a cigarette lighter, spilled the fuel &
watched it burn.

And a little bit about me: Hi! I’m Estella, a Seattleite who loves coffee, dancing, bookshops, and words (though not necessarily in that order). More of my work can be found at tiltshiftpoetry.wordpress.com.

If you would like to have your work published in The Poetry Bar send your poem, a few words about yourself and the link to your blog and Instagram (if you have one) to the e-mail poetrybar1@gmail.com

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