fire

my first impulse

is to hide

to become obscure in the detritus

of rank or position

the haze of repetition

a familiar narrative

that ends concisely, tidy.

to find a corner

and shut the door

and not make a sound.

to put a cap on that well

and let the weeds and grasses

grow up and over

till it is a forgotten thing,

an artifact, a mystery even.

that is the first impulse,

the automated response.

my training in self reliance

in independence

in self sufficiency

suddenly appears to me as a

symptom of willful ignorance.

"a woman can't survive

by her own breath alone"

and yet there is that road

through the lonesome valley

and you have to go there

by yourself.

you go there by yourself,

yourself being that permeable boundary

all those voices and sensations that passed through you

all the beings you spoke for or silenced

all the sensations and communications

and augmentations you endured.

open up the cap on that well.

what raging storm

what deathly silence

what sweat drenched sigh

do you become?