Burn
Poetry by Jessica Costello
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The road home feels like a funeral procession—steady pace, no interruptions, clear destination.
But I can’t see who burns atop the pyre; whether the pile of ash is my past self or my progress, given oxygen only to perish in offering to an uncertain, unknowable, potential(ly) greater good crowning a hill in open air. Would you do it again? I ask a mediocre mirror of myself Would you die for me so I can live for you? A pinch of pain now, for later glory a moment of doubt-- She lights the match. |
About the Writer
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Jess Costello is a graduate student in counseling, writer and arts reporter for Boston Hassle. Her work has appeared in Boston Accent, The Blue Mountain Review, and a variety of other outlets. When not studying or writing, she's exploring nature, talking to her cat, playing the ukulele, or haunting Instagram and Twitter @jcostellowrites.
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