“Burn” and “Salt Water Haibun” by Courtney LeBlanc

BURN I sit in front of the fire, the wood so dry it pops, embers rain out, a small burn marks the rug, evidence of the offense. When I met him the spark glowed hot. How quickly I reacted, knowing to let it smolder could mean a home in flames. I don’t always do this, extinguish the fires that burn low, snuff out the desires before they can rage, burning everything to the ground. By the end of winter the rug is filled with tiny black holes, embers leaving their mark, a reverse constellation. By the end of winter I … Continue reading “Burn” and “Salt Water Haibun” by Courtney LeBlanc