House

A Poem by yasmine

Panic is spewing. The siren going off over and over as I lay trapped. Immediately the area is lit up. The walls engulfed in flames, as the couches start ripping apart. The chairs flip over and the television cracks. The air begins to burn. I try to tuck everything back in and open the windows, but this only causes the wind to come in and sweep the blaze higher. It’s looming over me- closing in. I fall, curling up into a ball, holding myself. I feel the heat dancing around me, eager to reach out and nip at my skin.

I clutch myself so hard that I do not realize when the breeze comes to play with my hair, blowing out the flames as it parts the strands away from my face.

I wait, cradling myself, not sure if it’s safe to get up. It has passed. Still, there left a mess. There is no frenzy but there are chairs left flipped, tables turned, the fridge open. The fire went out but there's a bitter scent of ash in the air. I catch my breath and start to clean up. I sweep the floors, put the pillows back, and close the door; not knowing that when the flames sailed my skin it left traces of marks behind it.