when I burn bridges

I hover my hand
over the fire for a minute
unafraid of the scorch

I am not in fear
of inhaling the ash
left on sidewalk
and cheek bone

I would rather paint my face
and rub the soot on my hands

no one ever told me
whether it was right
or wrong, but

the only doubt that lingers
in my chest are short breathes
regurgitated on to tongue
and spat back at the feet
of the path I chose not to follow

it doesn’t mean
I can’t continue
to build with both hands

when the time came
to start over
I was the first to
sharpen my nails
on the skin of back

only destruction
can bring renewal

I have not recast our bridge

I piece together buildings
and erected towers
I create a world from
the ruin left behind