Who is she, 1918

By Jane Booth

She’s always been a wild card, that one Hair just the shade of blonde between strawberry and bumblebee. Eyes dewed with honeysuckles and lips that wished they would keep to themselves. Her ears, tired from listening for Love to tell her to love him a little bit less, her cheeks sullen from having to put on a smile anyways. So she loves herself instead, she lights a candle for the pains of the world and leaves it burning while she wanders through pastures of wildflowers, and braces for wildfires.