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
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.