The Art of Pyrography

I remember the hazy sun

How it filtered through the

Thrift store curtains

The billows of incense smoke

Held by freshly stained wood

That swirled through the rooms

Of laughter

Mostly

Screaming

Sometimes

The sun would catch you

At just the right moment

All your stress and worry

Evaporated 

With the music

That always welcomed you home

Your gauzy skirt

With rainbow metallic threads

Caught the light 

As you danced around the room 

Forgetting your long

Nights of working doubles

Just to barely get by

The two children

That were always hungry 

And begging for your attention

Would stop in their tracks

And watch you in awe

Stunned by your beauty 

But most importantly

Your freedom.