First with Topsoil

You have aged into the belief of letting things go,

convinced yourself it is better than an ending—

Better than the tension that cloaks every conversation,

or the volcano that threatens to erupt.

Staying in the distance, safe from the heat

or whatever comes next,

you learn surrender is another word for silence.

Tired of being the burnt offering on an altar you helped build,

dripping with oil and supplication,

you smother the flame with topsoil—

initiate a burial,

But the earth holds memory,

a brutal reminder that beneath the surface, conflict smoulders,

like a flower waiting for its time in the sun.