Jessy Assy

like standing at the edge

of a cliff,

close enough

to map the free fall

downwards

yet far enough 

to prevent it from

happening,

or passing a decrepit,

abandoned house

and wanting to 

explore 

its hallways

to decipher 

all the stories

trapped inside its four

walls

but hiding behind the 

100-year-old oak tree

to avoid unwittingly 

awakening

the ghosts and goblins

of the departed owners

that once frolicked in its

now yellowed

corridors;

it’s no different than finding

a spider, guest  

taking up residence

in a corner of a room

you seldom walk into,

and noticing your flatmate

is not lonely

this eve 

as he is accompanied by

his own dinner, guest, 

whom he’s managed

to skillfully 

trap

in his web 

that would be just as easy 

to destroy

or leave

untouched; 

much like every unfiltered 

attempt

to unapologetically 

hold my ground,

always beginning with a thought –

small, warm at first

then glaring, expansive, unrestrained;

a candle I choose to 

observe intently

as it burns

but,

one that I light only 

because I know

you will always

put it out 

before it turns 

into a 

wildfire.