the Phoenix [poem]


The first time I burned,
I awoke in the ashes of a boy’s pothead promises
and climbed out of his ashtray a sooted mess,
weak willed and skittish
from his hard hands
and cold heart.

The second time I burned,
I heard my grandfather’s death from an ocean away
and this new man-child laughed
at my loss, my tears, my heartache.
I branded vengeance across his entire life
before soaring out of it.

The next time I burned,
the sharp heat tore through me without warning,
long before my time came due. I awoke
to gasoline fumes on my womb as he struck a match,
his betrayal turning my body into
an unquenchable furnace 
and my will to smother the flames 

And yet, again, I rose.
I rebirthed myself from the ashes
that others mistook for cremation,
for death and destruction and ending,
and I flared back to life
not to spite them,
the ignition switches and
matchbox strikers and
content to watch me burn and
burn and
I came back
because it is my way.

A phoenix never dies,
we burn and rise.

– poem by Larissa Lee

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s