Discovering What's at Stake

DISCOVERING WHAT’S AT STAKE

When I hear the hollow thump

of their boots on the front porch,

and that night at last arrives

when they bang on my door

with the butt of their torches, 

an eager light in their eyes 

as they regret to inform me 

that it’s my turn to be cinched

to the stake, the one

that—yes, I know—I picked myself

to die upon, may my tongue melt 

before I can scream out 

for mercy. Let it flare up bright

enough that—if for a moment

and from afar—some restless pilgrim 

mistakes it for a star

and packs a bag, at last arriving  

to the long road home.