The world ablaze around a last oasis.

We have come and I am

silken bound, linen wrapped,

waiting for the moonlight on the canvas

and the echo of the body.

I did not set the fire

but he says, Baby, let it burn.

He lifts the curtain and asks:

Tell me, what is it you plan to do?

If you go back, what will you say?

I say: I will come out

about what matters.

I will speak back to the fire.

He turns me loose,

kisses my hands, whispers: That’s it.

___

ABIGAIL MYERS writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction on Long Island, New York. Her microfiction recently appeared in Heart Balm and is forthcoming from Milk Candy Review. Her poetry recently appeared in Sylvia, Roi Fainéant, and Amethyst Review, and is forthcoming from Unlimited Literature, Syncopations, Musings, and Icebreaker Lit (in collaboration with Ally Tukupashya). Her essays have appeared in the Blackwell Philosophy and Pop Culture series, with a personal essay forthcoming from Phoebe. Keep up with her at abigailmyers.com and @abigailmyers