After Chloe Honum & C.D. Wright
Mother split the river's ice.
The water surged a colloidal breath.
The house dark, a spoiled negative,
needing light, needing heat.
We loved the air: the swirls of
cedar bark and perfect sunshine.
There wasn't any other way, so
Mother split the river's ice and,
together, we found. Our feet slipped through
the stream as we stole wood for the fire.
The water surged a colloidal breath.
The house spat darkness and smoke.
The burn.
The burning.
The burned.
The house heats like a lover.
Previously published in Polyphony H.S.