Sunday, August 17, 2008

Lit Up

He is six feet of fire
rising from my roof
match-lit, sizzling,
snapping

making me laugh
on Sunday and bawl
(or brawl) on Monday.
I wipe the snot
on my sleeve, breathe

and climb out the window
cause the roof is on fire,
and I am the water, but
I still let him burn.

It's this gnawing
for-give-ness
that bites at my butt.

It's a sit-on-a-candle kind of
get-your-ass-up kind of
don't-blaze-holes-in-my-dress
oh-well, fuckit
kind of love.

another wonderful phrase from Easystreet: gnawing forgiveness

5 comments:

Noah the Great said...

The last stanza was excellent.

holly said...

Thanks Noah!

Julie said...

I agree with Noah. Excellent! Lovely sounds throughout the poem. I liked your dancing poem, too. It's cool how you take the everyday incidents and turn them into great poetry.

holly said...

Julie, you are so kind. I don't know about "great"...but I enjoy writing. I guess that's what is really important, eh?

Jarod K. Anderson said...

Sometimes I think most kinds of love are the “oh well fuckit” kind. :) Nice work. This is very engaging/vibrant stuff.