Fire

One thing I can’t live without?
Fire.

And not so much for the basic survival instincts of my ancestors,
But still for its warmth

That draws, beckons, welcomes …
The flickering flames trace a circle of warm light
and everything within is engulfed in a dome of intimate safety.
Whatever dwells beyond this dim circle is momentarily forgotten.

Your eyes are shadowed by your listening brow
And so we instinctively stare into the fire instead of meeting gazes
Speaking to you, but not at you,

I feel safe to cast fear to the ashes
To sacrifice my vulnerabilities to the flame,
And send my hopes adrift with the shooting sparks.

I can’t read your faces or know your thoughts and still the fire dances
Encourages
It is safe here,
So the story seeps out slowly,
The pauses,

,,,

held with reverence, the words unhurried
There is patient space here.

My final pause says I am finished for now
And a chorus of “thank-yous” scatters back to me as the circle continues:

“My name is Betty and I’m an alcoholic.”

Enshrined in intimate safety,

Everything beyond, momentarily forgotten

We are cast together in the light.