Poetry: Fire by Kati West Peters

I was in love with a boy, but no one could tell. I did a good job of hiding the fact.

He knew all there was to know about fire. He knew what it meant when fire burned green. He knew how to start a fire without a match or a lighter, even though he always had one with him.

After working hard or while relaxing, he’d pull out his lighter and watch fire burn.

He would stare at it, in a daze.

“It’s burning copper,” he would say. And, of course, he’d be right; the small fire was green.

So, yes, the boy I loved burned fires, ignited fires, started fires from scratch. He knew so much about fires.

Except for the one he’d started in me.