Protea Rising

fires always find something else to burn

their tongues do whip around

tasting things before consuming

it’s an all you can eat

fires have broad palates

donning a growing appetite 

sometimes they eat through 

the brush, clearing

the way for me

sometimes the fire reminds me

of the times when there is no fire

sometimes the fires come expectedly

so I’ve stashed dormant buds

blooming when graced with chance

so I keep a seed bank

not all seeds are meant to bloom

sometimes the fires come expectedly 

so I become

a willow for my mother

a cricket for my brother 

a wallow for when the rain falls

a pest for a wildfire

sometimes when I gaze at the fires around me

I think, am I guilty of arson