I am the firebug, or so they say,
and have been ever since the night
I took the glowing irons from the hearth
and seared my name into the clay.
The name remains upon the stones
and in my hand, a firebrand.
I’ve carried torches that have
cooled into old flames.
I’ve followed crests and flies into
their nests, high up in thorny branches,
gathered dry sticks below them,
brought them opals as offerings.
I’ve loaded ships with wood
and cast them loose, alight, to blaze
a trail of jewels across the night
and settle, singing, on distant shores.
I’ve caught the ash that falls, like stars,
upon my tinder tongue.
Inside this burnished box I keep
a flint and stone.
A rope, for kindling.
One lone match.
Artwork by: Katy Lawson
Alliterati Magazine 