Slow Burn

September 12, 2014 § 3 Comments

My Vesuvius
was no flaming tsunami.
It was a crock-pot,

and I kept adding more potatoes,
frying pans,
a footstool.

It slow-cooked for decades
while I sweltered and wondered
what was making all that heat.

majestic deities smoldered and charred,
sucked underground by their own weight.
The very best of them, too pure a fuel,
exploded, leaving curious hollows in the rock.

The groves and villas that remained grew a skin of ash,
the change so gradual,
I didn’t see the colors fade,
believed the world had always been this dim and gray,

one sooty, starless night,
I got around to digging, and found
the most wonderful things.

There were mosaic-lined chambers
that glittered with conviction,
an outrageously frivolous lamp,
radiant with far more fantasia than function.
And I found stories and stories and stories
that flew to me like tiny motes of light.

Slow Burn - photo by Álvaro González


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