A wistful air rattles loose a memory which burns,
not unlike newborn fire: steeped in buried sadness.
Here in the heart of this house, a breath before midnight,
sleep calls me. And how does one bargain with
something immutable? One does not. Tooth and nail, I go.
Nightly now, my dreams try and come to life. Though they
have small power here, no threadbare kingdom of youth
to hide behind. They have forgotten my reality: I have grown old.
∞
Tyrel Kessinger is a stay-at-home dad of two wild animals. Occasionally, he finds time to write things, some of which can be found at Gargoyle, Akashic Books, Toasted Cheese, and forthcoming from Triggerfish, Hinchas de Poesia, Inflectionist Review and Cease, Cows. He also serves time as Associate Editor for Grey Sparrow and reader for Flash Fiction Online.
Follow him on Twitter @KessingerTyrel!
