A Childhood Fire

Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash

The camera, dented and bruised.
Lost with pained memories of burning brick —
a vessel shipwrecked at sea,
sunk to the bottom of the ocean.

The remnants of an ash-covered
polaroid. My childhood home,
smoke-sooted brick, engulfed by flames.
That’s my home.

The camera emerges from a shadow,
slowly peeking out
behind a screeching, cracked door.

And all I can hear,
ringing in my ears,
is the faint sound of the camera —
clicking, clicking, clicking.

My eyes grow numb, pupils
widen from the blinding light,
distorting my vision.
There is no pain.

I let go of the pain
the image of the burning brick brings,
and a part of my soul melts
away from the past. Still
and lifesless,

the camera limp in the corner,
where all that is left
is a blurred shadow —
concealing all the memories
from my wounded past.

College grad with a degree in Psychology. Health fanatic and recipe creator: https://linktr.ee/feliciaka

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