by Renee Blair

I blame you for my short temper

when I go off the handle

when my blood runs cold

and I can't think straight

I can only react.

When I say things I don't mean

Even if I do.

But I am glad

for the fire you started inside of me.

That time I stood in front of The White House

with people I did not know

for something we all believed in.

The time I yelled at the woman who owned the dog

who hurt my rabbit, as my grandfather whispered


A mother's love is like a bonfire,

and I smile as I nurture the embers

that have fallen into place

inside of me.