Some pinecones, like the sequoia’s, 
need scorching hot flames 
before they can burst into flying seeds.
 
I don’t know how it feels to be a cone 
cracking into a thousand fragments of itself.

I do know how it feels to be sealed shut
in a house too tight to breathe.
 
I guess I’d rather take the flames
for a small chance

to grow roots, 
to branch out,

​

to sprout a life 
of my own.