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Brice Randall Bickford
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Kindling
Well I used to have something in me
That needed only to be put out
I was young and lit
There was no end to what I was
Told to take in
Cold
In sick bedclothes and the winter sun
I woke up once
A handful of eras had passed
As time obliged with speed
Extinguishing
All my grand assumptions about
The kind of man I should be
The kind of man I should be by now
Out on the back deck steps
I sat with my narrowness
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Chimney smoke in the air
A memory of Kate one Halloween
With her fake fangs out
Baiting rich undergraduates
I loved to laugh at disorder
Until I owned my voice
It was hard enough to not forget
Every year seeing clearer
Derailed my dream
Of saying something new
Eventually
All of my actions have struck me:
They were not much
They were not much more than me
Kindling
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