Wildfires by Moira Flath Rhode Island Youth Poet Laureate

You can not extinguish a wildfire,
And leave no trace
of scorched earth.
I look like scorched earth,
Do I?
Not so much an inferno spirit
But the remains of one
Bore, born
Of issued looks cool with
furnace eyes,
I grew in years but I
never grew up myself,
And burned.
I am
my own worst enemy.
But do not take my looks
For who I am.
For when I am my only company,
When all the guests have gone home,
I twindle, twist the
Sharp edges of my little fierce flame.
It sits on my chest
And I keep it all
To myself.

Sofia Snow