• The Gift of Fire •

Two years ago was the last day of the old world.
We are still trying to find our way back,
but I think the flaw in that plan is
that there is no way back, 
there is only forward. 

We are forging a new world now, 
one where we’ve realized that maybe 
strangers are not as kind as we’d hoped,
where we’re teetering on the 
fine line of a tightrope, 
praying with all we have left
that we won’t plunge into the 
abyss that lurks below.

But even in this age of shadow, 
there are soft promises of light
shining out in the little things, 
neighbors helping neighbors, 
friends reminding us to breathe, 
family that we can hold again, 
even if at a bit of a distance. 

When Prometheus gave us fire, 
the true gift was how we gathered, 
realizing there’s nothing that matters
more than loving one another 
and telling tales over broken bread.

We must remember that 
true fires are more than a place 
where we come together— 
those tiny, flickering flames 
also glow within us, 
keeping us warm in this, 
our generation’s longest night.

To support my writing, subscribe to Queery Letters on Substack, or visit my tip jar on ko-fi.

Featured Photo by Jeff W on Unsplash

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