the keeper of the hearth must know when to snuff it out

“one morning, this sadness will fossilize / and i will forget to cry.” -mitski, fireworks

at night, the last tear cauterizes my tendons

like burning coal and i whisper an apology

to prometheus as the bushfires extinguish.

dried blood coagulates behind my gums

like candied tangerines and rock sugar.

the museum is open for exhibit and

my ribcage is on display; trace the wandering eyes

wreathing fireworks like weeping chrysanthemums.

a voice of rushing water: "here, we see an enlarged heart.

notice the atria dilating, two pupils clutching onto

the memory of love."

at night, the stars waltz and step on my toes.

i breathe in bathroom tile dust and see my mother

smiling in shattered mirrors. watering the petals

of an orchid woven from my eyebags.

houseplants shrivel in cobwebbed cupboards

yet their burned palms still reach for the sun;

why do i keep reaching? (because forgetting leaves no second chances.)

exhaling only relocates the guilt,

pushes edema from bronchi to stomach

so i can breathe easier.

entropy nestles between the bones,

makes a home in the emptiness.

(i shrug off my skin and let it rest there.)

this time, i allow equilibrium to stagnate in my veins.

and i do not light the matches.