funkdracula
on the tv and in my bathroom
made of fat or fruit or oil
bubbling boiling brewing spoiling
scented like a new day
dries you up but wets you down
in every home in every time
clean your act
clean your language
clean your face
Soap.
It was like a small flicker at first, a spark in their eyes and a tiny connection. Every time they met the sparks rose and the flames grew stronger, and it turned into a raging forest fire between them. They couldn't put out the burning in their hearts that drew them together like moths.
It took a long time to decide what they were going to do about the walls that had come up. It wasn't easy to let go of their differences and make room for change. But there was a way to end the conflict, and it was the only way they had. After years of fighting, they dropped their fight and dissolved into peace.
The trees were dying, the grass was browning. The fires burned through the dry forest, curling the vines. The trees bent and withered, the heat melting the very air.
It wasn't easy to do. To buy all these things and then to merely take them back? Because they were too small? Humiliating. Returning clothes was almost as bad as having to go buy them in the first place. It just makes people feel more ashamed.
The sea washes me ashore and I reach toward the light spinning above me, shining across distant waters. I can no longer see the waves that brought me in but I know the light reflects off of them like it has so many years in the past. The lighthouse keeps the boats and darkness at bay, and perhaps it is for the best.