certainly not afraid

of fear itself
frightened more
by the Mars beat
the temple pulse of anger
thundering behind
the seemed smooth brow
the hand holding
a lit torch of fire
arm raised over head
enraged but happy
to know that neither of us
will leave this place alive
feeling the heat
a halo singeing hair
oily black smoke
strong legs walking
towards you – open as
a spinifex field in drought

Categorized as musing

By Eleanor Jackson

Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet, performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal about town, feminist, freewheeler, and friend.

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