Wildfire

My mind feels stretched
like an old tape cassette,
that's been played over and over again.
I've moved the way you move.
I've sat in your loud chair,
layed down in your silent bed,
and I've paced the corners of your den,
trying to get a sense of the way you move.
(The heavy steps of a brute.)

Seems I'm afraid when men send
love,
drifting slowly towards my
wardrobe.
Slow like the late-night aroma of
campfires
sticking to clothes.
Seems I'm afraid when men spread love
like flames on the dry needles of
pine.

Sitting in your world of heavy
breathing
with only my working arms for
co-operation.
Staying put and losing
imagination
of the future.
Losing all love,
leaving it open on kitchen
counters,
or under the disguise of
happy indifference.
Slow and quiet to realize we're
wishing we could be our mothers
wishing we could move just to move
wishing we could breathe out all of our
imperfections
and let uncomfortable memories
be silenced with a muffler.

Obediance reform my body
until she moves the way you move,
a heavy ship pushing through
a body of water,
hiding things in her own shadow.

Like a wildfire lost in it's own
magnificence,
I wish my working arms
would turn time in
circles.
Moving the way you
move,
I would push away dead men and
lonely mothers
until they would no longer
rest their
empty shadows
on my tired
shoulders