It changes us differently from most

It bubbles up so subtly, like a 

Hot spring; steaming, but quiet.

Once it touched me, I learned

To see it in others

I saw it in a boy in ecology class

It should have been obvious before, but

That day, I could hear it.

We were asked, What would you do

If the summer home you bought was

Within the territory of an eagle's nest?

They are quite sensitive about 

The location of their nests, and will

Return to the same nest year after year

I said I'd choose a different location;

I felt bad for the eagle.

The rest of the group had a similar response.

Not him

He said,

"I would stay on that property

Because I paid for it

And it's mine."

He laid his paper down flat

And lowered his eyes quietly to the desk.

I heard it.

And then I saw it in him;

The set of his jaw,

The thin lips pressed together,
The coldness in his silent eyes

I wanted to ask him why.

But I had silent eyes

And remembered how stubbornly I often said

"Mine" as well.

I saw it in a boy in ecology class

And now I can't stop seeing it

Victims consumed by a flame

That envelopes them alone.

It licks, bites, burns, doesn't stop

But they refuse to scream

Instead, they set their jaw

Lock their lips together

And put on an icy stare, as if it can

Contradict the fire within.

We are the sort you wouldn't want drunk

The inhibitions that trap our eagle screeches

Might go down our throats with a fiery swallow

Hell, we'd kill each other

All for what?

Some unsorted truth?

Fear? Imbalance?

The worst part might be its contagious nature

The third time he took me

By the shoulders and shook me,

I shoved my mother that night.

I am not violent but his fire caught me.

I wish it never happened.

Wish I did not see the way she became

Silent and still, and asked in a small voice

That I not touch her arm because it 

Already hurt.

I wish I did not see what my father saw.

He has a lot of fire, he

Bursts into flames when he feeds it a beer.

Perhaps she was looking at my fire

And saw his face burned into my eyes.

I wish I did not see my mother become weak.

I saw it in a boy in ecology class

I saw it in my youth pastor at church

I saw it in someone who used to kiss my cheek

I saw it in the one who gave me the fire

We are walking ashes
Consumed in a nest of burning sulfur

Painted red by the anger within.