crackle

by Megan Reichel
Visual by AJ Huang

I crackle with fire.
My bones and muscles burn like logs
and my joints pop in the heat.
I've burned for longer than even I know.
By the time the origin
of first spark was located,
in my phloem, in my tissue,
the blaze had already turned obstinate.
Blood boils through my veins,
sap frothing beneath smoldering bark.
Sometimes, I burn worse.
I push myself too far,
burning out and burning up, somehow,
and I cannot stand the heat.
I am nearly consumed.
Most don’t see the smoke pouring
out of my ears: just tears
dripping down like ashes, down.
Down my limbs fall when
I can’t hold them up anymore.
The fire is so great I feel it
cannot ever be extinguished.
Other days are cooler,
when only embers glow,
and I can almost forget
I’m always burning.
I stand tall and smile in sunbeams.
My blood cools enough to give me life
instead of having me wish for death.
Smoke clears enough for me
to see clear sky, to breathe clean air.
I can catch a breath.
I can breathe through it
until I can’t again.