Body Interred With Fire-Making Tools: Poetry

Sarah Sousa 

Flint and dry tinder,

a narrow bone tube to focus


the lungs’ bellows on a single

spark, to magnify the breath in flame,


watch it lick the air, lap oxygen,

spread. Even in that mouthless


cave where nothing breathes,

a man might wake and crave


light, the companionship of shapes

on close walls. That the other


side may be womb-dark, a world in need

of creating. That Man necessitates God, splits


to play both roles, again

inventing fire. Inventing the means


for his survival

and his survival.

One thought on “Body Interred With Fire-Making Tools: Poetry

  1. Pingback: Two Poems in Dogwood: A Journal of Poetry and Prose | Sarah Sousa

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