Hollow wood is a home
It is my body
The bark stands wide and tall and beautiful
Cylindrical and mighty to see
There is an atmosphere
The body is an illusion of greatness and strength
But once beaten with rough winds
A frightful echo rings through me
A stick to a drum
A scream of that emptiness
The hollow wood
Is a fragility that only I can see
The hollow wood is perfect
For other peoples fires
No more than driftwood
Perfect for fuelling the warmth of others
Strengthless I am flint for a burning
Or fuel for a great bonfire
There isn’t much to ignite at all
But you will burn me up anyway.
Lighting me up is my greatest fear.
But also my burning desire.
By Emma Catherine