The Princess Who Knew Fire by Alexa Seidel
Smoke runs down my fingers like morning dew
my ball gown dervish-danced itself to ashes
round my flame-kissed ankles
that long for the axe’s touch
a heat that star-gold shower couldn’t sooth
My lips burn poison with apple kiss
and it is a spark of rose that pricked me into
one thousand years of fiery sleep
and vaporized my sheets with ardent longing
The oven is always hot for those who seek
a trail of crumbs or cinders such as I
and the well is always deep;
it swallows whole my golden fireball
‘What red hair you have!’
and searing heat that changes common desert sand
into quartz glass slippers, with molten tears
I can make your clouded eyes shine bright again
The warm taste of cinnamon wine burns on my tongue
shooting star wings and firefly breath
were my grandmother’s bequest
but the fire from my hands that makes smoke
of all it touches, that alone is mine









