I cook on an open fire with my cast iron pan,

And scrub it out with river sand,

And rinse it in the fast flowing waters of the clear creek,

And a little curl of white smoke

Is enough to lull me to sleep tonight.

A soothing sight,

The comforting smell,

The monotonous pop and crackle of fire,

And I don't feel I'm out here all alone,

But I am.

Prometheus, you once brought the flames

Of progress to the human game

Of the same name,

And the gods put you in hell for that,

With an eagle, eternally eating your liver.

And so when I'm tempted to shed some light,

Offer my love on a winter's night,

Like a fire to some stranger's hearth,

Or just generally be kind,

I automatically put my hand over my liver,

And keep moving on.

Because for some, the stories of the gods

Make us humans feel we're not alone,

But we are,

Or might be better off.

-jenn