Son and the Sun

Waking up before son, but not before sun- she can’t wake if she’s never slept.
It’s nice for the land and animals to catch what she touches before I do.
I go to welcome her a few times a year. I think I want it to be more; she always tells me she appreciates it when I appreciate her.

Just to hear the train whistle and the morning birds caw their way through a gossiping cluster, I sit awake in the middle of the week.
I need to get still so I can be better.
I need to breath deeper so I can locate patience.
I need to enter my conscious before I access my vocals.

People like fire for roasting hot dogs and marshmallows, they even like it for passion and direction. For motivation and drive.
Not for the flare in the eyes or the tone of the sound. Not when flames mean the lash and the scold. You end up burning your own feet.

So sun, I know you’re hot but can you help me cool my insides.
So son, I know you’re seven, but can you help me be five.

There were no fires there. There were no fires then.








Some Serious Spice

I would say I’m pretty able when it comes to spices.
Over the years my tolerance has built a fortress-out of chilis as it were, and it has withstood many heatwaves.

Until today.

When my face went numb.

And my eyes gave way to streams of salt.

From previous accounts of my own and through others’ tales I have heard that gulping down water during Chili Fortress burning and crashing, is a top notch level of NO.

But it is my immediate reaction to the flames on my tongue, as it would be to flames anywhere in life.

It is like pouring gasoline into a firepit.

Now,not only is my face melting, but my stomach too.

It lurches a dozen ways in a three second span, making me feel disconnected from every limb I own.

My stomach doesnt decide to follow a lurch until I am across the room drilling into the top shelf of the fridge where I keep a supply of (don’t say yuck) dark chocolate.

If I ever needed a sweet tooth fix, now wasn’t just the only time, fixing now was all I cared about.

The smoke billows up from my gut and makes my head feel light and faintable.

This is the lurch that gets my head inside the freezer door with a brick of chocolate between my teeth and half a gallon of it down my throat.

It surprisenly works well.

Until I, without much thought other than the desperation and sheer fear I felt at the consideration of any smouldering ashes, decided to gulp down some more water.

It didn’t come back full force, but it flared the flames enough for me to want only to lay face down on the couch,
feed chocolate to my oxygen,
and think of how I was going to write this post.