Blaze in the Northern Sky

The Samhain blaze

is meant to be a bonfire,

a raging inferno

fuelled with all the dead energies

from the past year.

Tonight’s barely burned.

All I had to put in the flames was

fresh loathing,

living rage,

frustration so green

the branch didn’t snap.

There I sat,

piling all the kindling I’ve spent the year saving up,

all the feelings,

all the emotions

meant for the flames,

and the fire won’t catch.

So, what am I supposed to do?

Am I supposed to let burn only that which might burn

and hold onto the rest?

Let the wood pile up through the dead ends of Autumn,

let them collect snow in the dead of Winter?

Let them all be buried under a year’s worth

of evergreen headaches?

What if they don’t burn next year either?

How can I dry that which will not dry,

if the feelings stay fresh,

if it doesn’t matter how big the fires get?

What isn’t ready to die will stay for as long as it can.

I would have thought there might be a way.

Maybe

time and fire

will do the trick

if

there is enough fuel.