(Pressure)

June

I wondered
if I compressed the light cupped in my hands,
whether it would become too dense
and catch flame.
It was a cruel thing to do –
test the light’s limits like that.
I wanted to see it
tremor and burst.
But mostly,
I wanted to know that I had caused it.
That the light was different
because of me.
That fire now existed
where it once had not.
That I
had birthed power,
radiance, and destruction in my hands.
The light turned vengeful and angry when it
compressed and transformed.
Pressure does that to a thing.

Poem-a-month project.