Herbal Medicines: Issues And Successes – Dr Olumayokun Olajide (Part 2)

House Fire: A poem by Chikayla Coleman If I were to describe a house fire, I would describe the moment the flames begin to destroy those things that can never be replaced. Like red wine spilled down a white shirt, the fire leaves a stain of spoiled material in its wake. Photograph albums containing memories once sharp and crisp with every detail of every face are consumed by the blaze, it belches smoke that obscures the photographs of the grandchildren on the mantelpiece, what were their names again?… She no longer remembers. Fire caresses the crooked spectacles until they melt in its embrace; now she will never find her glasses. The demented fire spreads like a disease sofas catching fire from carpets, then it streaks up curtains like a mass of leaves spurted by a gust of wind on a dry day in Autumn; they crackle and flit about on the breeze in an array of reds, browns and auburns. Veins, arteries and nerves of the house where electricity and water once flowed are frayed, melted, dysfunctional. If I were to describe a house fire, I would describe how memories are left faded in the flames.