Spark

I look around my house
And I know I don’t want to burn it down,
I don’t want to lose the keepsakes on the mantle,
The whiskey bottle full of nails or the
Color scheme of my closet.
But the foundation is rotting.
It was a slapdash build,
Improvised when they lost the plans–
Poured the concrete too quick and left
Coils of cords like avian ghost towns in the rafters.
The livewire lighting has always been
Too yellow.

When I tell people I need to pull up the baseboards, though,
I see their primal fear of fire.
I see they fancy me the errant spark.

It almost makes me want to start one,
Just to call the helping hands,
Just to prove I own this plot.
But

I don’t want to burn the house down,
Don’t want to lose the box of a decade’s fantasies on fallible flammable sheets.
I want to type them up,
I want to fix the foundation
So I can save the second level,
Can save the puzzle signed by my friends,
Can save the shelves of books signed by my inspirations,
Can save the half-blue walls that need
One fresh coat of paint.