43
Sister
by Annie Burdick
It seems you’re endlessly destined to be misheard and misrepresented. The girl in the crowd with the smile that means more than anyone knows and the teeth and tongue that crackle electricity. You move most days like a tectonic plate, so deceptively indestructible, bringer of chaos and change.
You, little girl of fire. Now woman of brimstone and irises on a crisped hill.
I learned once that irises bloom on charred earth where all else dies. After that burning blaze sends a rustle through the world, a tiny purple flower thrives. While shocked eyes turn to the dead trees and abandoned homes and smoke clouds halfway across the country, dainty blooms take advantage of their chance and emerge.
Just like you, little girl of fire and flowers.
I’ve watched you. The passion in your hands and eyes stirs me. There’s a fire in you and you let it consume you from the center out. You’d rather turn into ashes than a volcano.
.
When will they realize, fire girl, that when it comes to you
they’ve already lost
?