First, the intrusion -
a visitor who passes the cup
with a mouth full of centuries.
There's no way to stay warm,
except with this drink and a thirst
for fire.
The fire is like a child's first photo
in a locket dislodged
from a catch basin,
with no name, but a mouth full of centuries.
Yes, the fire is in this and every other
thing called love,
something to bury and grow again
from a fistful of dirt.
Inside, we bleed fire
except for the man
who bleeds for all of us.

Meg Smith lives in Lowell, Mass. She is a newspaper reporter and Middle Eastern dancer. Her work has appeared or will appear in The Cafe Review, Blue Violin, Pegasus, Dreams of Decadence, Celtic Beat and others.

send comments to info@poetrybay.com

first electronic copyright 2000 poetrybay. 
all rights revert to authors

website comments to dpb@islandguide.com