Kindling
A Place To Land
This is noticed, about a kind of knowing.
I walk outside, check the box for mail.
Words did not get me there.
I fry the eggs, flip them when it’s time.
No one tells me when.
I sit at the table, a meal with my family.
No one need introduce themselves, tell me how to use the fork.
To write about these moments, this kind,
requires only precision.
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Or, sometimes it begins with a kind of kindling.
Pull, desire, activity, heat. In the head, chest, throat.
Need.
For what?
The satiety
of being someone
with a place to land, stand.
Someone who knows.
Words, like matches, meet the oxygen of the moment.
Gathering. Holding. Struck. Flame.
A way simple precision isn’t.
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Related Reading:
The Pull To Conclude — The moment something tries to become final.
It Comes After — The description arrives behind what already happened.
Down — A few seconds where nothing is yet placed.