Poetry: Prometheus in the New Age by Sage Greenwood



Prometheus in the New Age

Through powerlines and bedroom window, I see fire. Or maybe
it isn’t a fire, maybe it’s streetlight, but it doesn’t matter. Not when I imagine
cupping flame between my palms. It wouldn’t burn
as it dances on my arms, just twisting,
reaching up. Like an escape or maybe a return. A trip home.
 
The fire kaleidoscope'd in my hair
like the crystal that had rainbowed my room in the morning
until I let it crack in my hands. Now the flames
are the blood of glass, of keratin and boxed hair dye.
 
They tear higher. Into the trees and into the Aether.





Sage Greenwood (they/them) is an aspiring writer and editor currently studying fiction, poetry, and publishing at Emerson College. Follow them on Twitter and Instagram

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