FIRE SHOP

by Nathaniel edward Briner

A cold, lonesome cavity

tucked beneath the cradle

cultivated by the abrading aroma of sound.

A tall, drooping wardrobe

filled with sticks and fluff

sewn together by a stilted smile.

After a tantrum, it drips:

a pretty penny of inky nectar

one oily bag of dimes shuffles across the moat

to reach over a lemon-scented barricade.

Now planted in a cherished tree

limbs grow down and weave together

anchored by a wilted leather

as kindling clutches fire.