Each flame in fire dances different,
each piece of wood provides its own rhythm,
each movement makes us wonder where it went
while we watch as the ashes burns through them.
Early morning, somehow the calm sunrise
opens its eye and banishes the moon;
breakfast hearths crackle as a rooster cries.
The difficult decisions come too soon.
There’s nowhere to go to escape the fear.
I am told they know our names and faces.
We’ve sheltered with friends but we can’t stay here,
they look in all the usual places.
The news is noise: sound without true meaning,
everyone talking with full conviction
all at the same time, about the same thing,
as if they would know how to take action.
What do they say about what’s happening,
who’s opinion matters and should I care;
if I could run, what do I have to bring?
Denying the choices is easier.
How much does Mary suspect and shouldn’t?
I heard a solemn voice commanding me
because it was still fearful I wouldn’t:
authoritative without subtlety.
Ben Gage
