oh, bitter flame run
run until you find home again I know
you tripped over your own skinny legs
behind your mother’s church, knee caps crowned with
shards of glass I know
the sting I know
the swig, then scorch of vodka trickling over
bare bone, the taste of
copper and salt I know
the screaming days I know
the flickering rage I know
this isn’t death, this is a reset
life will breathe again,
in our garden of ash
Miriam Steinbach is a college student and poet based in Salem, OR. She enjoys being outdoors, playing cello, and posting poetry on her Instagram (@baldmilk).
