When I was younger
And staring into the heat of
Flames I created
Camping
I forget with who or
Exactly when
I got too close and
Didn’t realize
Until much later
My eyelashes singed
Short, like the bristles of
A beard
They grew back
My brief concern,
like all my mother’s warnings,
Unfounded in reality
So now
Every time I lean in close to
The heat
I can’t help
Running my fingertip along
My lashes
To make sure
I’m still all there
And my mother isn’t