Let her burn—
not like a candle,
steady and safe,
but like a star collapsing,
a quiet violence folding in on itself.
Bring wine, not water—
let it stain her mouth
like blood on old letters
never meant to be read.
Don’t ask for the story
in the smoke or the ash—
she speaks in ruins,
in the silence between explosions,
where the earth forgets how to hold itself.
She is the shadow
that doesn’t soften with dawn,
the crack in the mirror
where the light dies.
Hold her like a secret
too dangerous to tell,
too beautiful to keep.
Love her like a wildfire—
reckless, consuming,
leaving only the shape
of what once was,
and the ache
of what can never be saved.
Heather Kays is a St. Louis-based poet and author passionate about writing since age 7. Her memoir, Pieces of Us, dissects her mother’s struggles with alcoholism and addiction. Her YA novel, Lila’s Letters, focuses on healing through unsent letters. She runs The Alchemists, an online writing group, and enjoys discussing creativity and complex narratives.
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