Writers Jam

The burning prayers of mothers of mothers of mothers (of children of children of children). The sacred fires of rage, stitched into every bone, bellowing, ravenous, demanding justice. The smoldering embers of words that your inner child, inner teen, inner adult, inner elder want to leave suspended in mid-air. Their holy scent asking to be left lingering in the thick air, for all to feel the heat of on their faces until the masks melt away. Candle & campfire. The breath. Ablaze with pain, regret, guilt, shame, grief, anger. Emblazoned with play, pleasure, desire, whimsy, curiosity, love. The soot of the ashes of fallen empires. For nature knows no kings, & when she decides we burn, we burn. The fiery screams of the ghosts of ungrieved children, lives & dreams & stories robbed of a chance to blossom & fruit. The wildfires. Haunting echoes of the scalding screams of Mother. Begging to be loved, like She has loved us. Aching to be nourished, like She has nourished us. In a cauldron of injustice & oppression, boiling blood & bones & trauma. Inherited in silence, repressed into darkness. The suspenseful sizzle of shadows that hold their secrets. Words as matchsticks. Feeling as fodder. You know the rest. The dance of Shiva & Shakti. The sparks that fly between two supernovae on an inevitable collision course. The fire which engulfs the cosmos & spits out entire galaxies. The desires you have not named, like hot charcoal melting deeper & deeper into your belly. Courage & coals. The wisps of wisdom & longing hiding inside the edges of flames. Across from them, two bright golden orbs - or is it eyes? - on the face of beloved. A love that burns fierce, bright as a North Star. A love that burns tender, warming your toes in the deathly, bone-chilling cold of winter. The orange-red of the leaves that are starting to turn, ushering in their own death. Alchemy & transformation. Fireworks in the night sky. The inexplicable human tendency to try to bring stars to the Earth. Long lists of what may now be released, penned down to paper. The metallic purr of the lighter as it comes to life. Liberation. The Sun. A gentle giant & giver of life. One day, also to be the Supreme Destroyer. Fire, I call to thee. Sacred in the taboo. Forbidden in the holy. Blue flame, red flame. The building heat radiating from your lover’s skin, pressed against your own. The rising steams from the hot shower. Flowing tears & dissolving of old skin. Chemical reactions. The flames that decorate the altar of flavor. Marrying together salt, fat, acid, heat. Fraying tempers & frying pans. Hot hot beads of sweat on the foreheads of foul-mouthed magic-makers. The catalysts of change & the bright, glowing light which fans their flames. A soft heart, sure to be loved, in surrender. What are the many fires that burn beneath your eyes?