How To Be A Phoenix (revised)

first,

you need the right lighter,
a zippo, no fancy engraving, plain steel,
something that’ll stay lit
when you let it roll off your fingers
into the gasoline. 

better still,
don’t bother with gasoline,
paint thinner, or anything like that.
there’s enough tinder around to get things going
and you won’t need to discard
a perfectly good lighter on your first try.

don’t start brush fires. 
too much is at stake
for creatures who don’t deserve flame.

stay away from occupied dwellings —
until you’re sure
the occupants have the skills
and the willingness
to escape.

start small, with something unwanted
and shabby.  try the roof of your daddy’s shed
or find a rotted corner on an abandoned house
that’s high enough off the ground to have remained dry
since the windows blew in,
since the winter came through.

lift the lighter, snap the cover and the wheel
and hold that thing against your choice
until it catches. 

once it’s rolling,
put safe distance between you and the fire,
then sit and watch it go.

do this more than once.
do it hundreds of times.
you will be interrupted.
you will be caught.
you will be freed.

one day
(and I wish I could tell you
something to look for so you can be certain
you are right about this
other than to say
it is something you will know
when it comes),
you will be ready.

this time, you’ll be inside when it begins.
you’ll let the lighter roll off your fingers,
casual as a basketball. 

o player,
you’ll be dancing
a pick and roll with the red opponent, screening
paths of fading resistance,
jumping ahead and over
what is coming for you…

now, you’re probably asking,
what is with all this random destruction?
this is not the phoenix path that was promised…

but you are wrong,

for when the phoenix rises from the fire,
it is not an unalloyed triumph…

the secret of the phoenix’s
tempered joy
is that the bird has learned
that in order to rise,
something must be
left behind,
there’s always damage
in the wake of rebirth,
and some collateral
must burn.