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