Spring 2018

My Fire

Mone D. Moore

 

Its smoke eats away at my dreams

And takes the form of what I’ve buried deep.

The flames burn holes into the curtain of my

                        memory.

I need to face it.

I need to shove my hands into it

And engulf myself in

                       remembering.

But how can I even begin

To find myself among my

                       ashes?


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