Thrum-thrum-thrum –
I awaken with a start –
heart pounding,
intense heat stifling –
flames shooting
ceiling high form
a ring around my bed,
as if dancing –
I am frozen, mute.
Is this death?
Distorted faces
leer through fiery curls –
like ancient tribal masks –
menacing, angry
the distinct sound of voices
penetrates the fire’s roar
and too frightened to respond,
I succumb to unconsciousness.
A hallucination, the doctor deduces –
an adolescent’s overactive imagination…
till, child no more, I gather
with other women,
and a drum –
thrum-thrum-thrum
and darkness pulls me back –
to the centre of the ring –
flames, and faces, and voices
only now, I am no longer afraid –
release my soul to the dance.
(Written for the dVerse pub where Victoria is hosting with the prompt: fire.)
One Woman's Quest 