heartburn

her rage: bigger than her.
it lives in her marrow.
the bones complain,
swelling,
rubbing against one another
like flint & steel -
the sparks, reflected
in the black mirror of her pupils.

at night,
she lays awake
with the weird retinal echo
of fireworks,
projected on the ceiling.
the blood flees from
her clenched fists as
they rest,
like trembling voles,
beneath the sheet.

her bed is empty.
she will let no one into
the red bedroom
of her heart.

the walls throb.
outside: a forest fire.
she has not yet noticed.
her son, in the next room,

already burning alive.