Fahrenheit 451; Tritina

Freshman year of high school I yearned— no— burned

To learn to be safe, to be loved, to be free

From fear and pain and father’s torrential reign.

Maman listened but hid when Sun called upon Rain

Chose sanity over her daughters’ soft flesh — which Rain then burned.

How is your tea, Maman? It only cost our chance to be free.

Hillary’s birthday came and I got her a book— it wasn’t free

A collection of clichéd poetry that suffocated under the reign of your Rain

When he took it to the back, lit a match, and threw it in the trash to be burned.

And as it burned, words, not me, walked free, and I watched fiery flakes of poetry fall like rain.