by Jeff Friedman
The fire surrounds you, but no matter how desperately you seek to put it out, stamping on it, burying it in dust, throwing buckets of water down its maw, it still keeps burning. You can’t remember how or when it started—and perhaps it has always surrounded you, but until now, you’ve chosen to ignore it, just as you’ve chosen to ignore those who have called out to you for help and those who have warned you about fire. As the flames grow hotter, your fingertips begin to burn and then your fingers, your arms and legs, you whole body. Soon you are the fire inside the fire. And everyone around you is screaming, “Fire!” Everyone is aiming their hoses, ready to kill your flame.
JEFF FRIEDMAN has published eleven collections of poetry and prose, His work has appeared in Best Microfiction, New Republic, New England Review, Poetry, and American Poetry Review. He has received an NEA Literature Translation Fellowship and numerous other awards.
Photo Credit: Zuzana Kacerová on Unsplash
