screams cackles smokes
in the winter the sun goes down
and traps fire-lines in between the tire tracks in the snow.
weaves orange light through the tree branches
like garland, like leftover string.
we stand in a circle,
squinting into the glare.
playing chicken, seeing who will remain.
not everyone makes it out.
boots and jean hems turn black with melted snow,
noses fade from pink to red, eyebrows twitch.
the sky breathes a few more times.
we know what we've done.
everyone realizes that the wet logs in the center shouldn't burn,
but they do.
they always do. a million sparks and flames chomping like teeth.
we're watching each other's faces
bloom in the shadows. sink back into dark.
cyclical as day and night.
fire bleeds light bleeds fire.
we bask under the sun but fear the pyre.
it's time.
each of us have something broken inside,
something that barks and thrashes against common wisdom.
an unseemly piece of soul.
that's what we feed to the fire -
the ropes from our wrists and the tears collecting on our cheeks.
weights on our shoulders and slices of our broken hearts.
ego from our bellies and the greed gathered underneath our fingernails.
the fire consumes all, screams and cackles and smokes.
we bleed into the snow and scrape at our eyes.
summertime never arrived so slowly;
the sun abandons us and the wind kicks up soot.
stains our mouths and hands.
snow glimmers against the firelight.
painted patterns, everchanging, like an unreadable language.
we lie in the snow, bare. empty. without.
then,
the sun rises again, the fire hisses and pops.
we are clean once more.