Pheonix
By Zinab Mohamed
Fire, fire— I’m being burned and charred.
Love is supposed to consume like flames, right?
I’ll emerge all distorted and scarred,
Different and far from a pretty sight.
I’m melting. My skin and eyes are dripping
Down my bones and deep into the green Earth.
My body is raw, exposed, and stinging.
The only salvation is a rebirth.
I’m turning into ashes like dry wood.
Please sweep me and dispose me like cinder
From the fireplace after winter matured
To spring, warmer and brighter than winter.
Spring, do you think I am like a phoenix,
Rising from the ashes, new and loveless?
The Trinity Review 