I wrote this today:
I'm the result of two generations of fire, at least
my grandfather saw horrors he likes to laugh
about and won't talk about directly, but
he replicates them compulsively when
he's stressed out or bored
my mother does the same thing and laughs
about it too, but watches me for
the same signs, the same crazy, like a ticking
time bomb although often she is the cause
of the insanity she fears so deeply at her core.
I want to say that the shows I like
hit too close to home, but they
play out like my life did for twenty four years.
pyromania burned through my mother's
line, held my grandfather prisoner.
my mother had her own compulsions,
not just fire. her hands, cold as death, were
always busy, always searching, always
grasping for another handhold, another tool,
another soul, another project. her hazel eyes
knew every entrance and exit, how to find
and get leverage, and she was plagued by
the nightmares, too. under the constant
stress of a dying husband and warring children,
her mind held her hostage for eighteen years,
forcing her to build fortress after fortress,
light fire after fire, see threat after threat,
run and run.
and she saw me as a blackened mirror
of herself, a shell burned through.
she followed me like a firewatcher,
as though I was a bomb primed to explode.
my compulsions are not hers, but the terror
is the same. the mechanism is the same
or is similar enough to be indistinguishable.
but I am here to quench the fire and the thirst
and I might be crazy but I'm here to do things
differently, so watch me if you must
but be prepared for me to
douse
your
flame
-Peri 9/25/2025
