The Empty Grate Poem by Helen Crutchett

The Empty Grate

The fire
within the grate
crackles and spits like an old hag
I jump with each gnarled log

exploding
wood splinters pierce flesh
emptiness invading time
unread books curled

corners
stretching cobwebs
coffee cups stale
spill onto news days old

cats curl on crinkled throws
stretching limbs too tardy to
chase cheeky crows and

lazy lizards.
I see a lone seagull
looking for her mate
the beach is deserted

I shut the door
on a freezing desolate
night
the fire goes out.

Sunday, December 15, 2024
Topic(s) of this poem: Fire,beach
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