cooling my burned
thumb at the kitchen tap
I’d grasped the roasting
stick too high up
cold water rushing over
the raw spot
farther down
the stream
rinsing yellow plum
the neighbour brought over
tasting the sour
water
eye always wander out
I kept this
in a box, snug
I pull the lid off and it rises
out like a puff of mountain
smoke above the high trees
is someone making a fire
up there? who’s lighting
that fire?
when my worries leave me
I put one foot in a mountain
stream
I’m numb
from high up far away
glacier weeping
lay flat and be covered
with ice
I’ve always
wanted this, to immerse
myself in complete
cold
a secret
on the forest floor
…
Stacy Thomas is a writer based on the West Coast of Canada, working primarily in poetry and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published in Pearls, The Front, The Peace Connective, and Tofu Ink Arts.
