Kindling

by Veronica Tucker

It doesn’t start with fire.

It starts with the things that burn—

Image credit: Daphne on Unsplash

dry wood, brittle edges,

the paper-thin promises

that there’s always enough:

time, space, hands.

You stack them,

shift after shift,

a quiet pile

growing higher

with every name,

every need.

Then one spark—

small, forgettable—

and it’s too late.

The flame knows

what to do.

No one asks

where the firewood came from.

They only ask

why you couldn’t put it out.

***

Veronica Tucker

Veronica Tucker is an emergency medicine and addiction medicine physician whose poetry explores the intersections of medicine, motherhood, and humanity. A lifelong New Englander, she weaves themes of trauma, resilience, and fleeting time into her work, drawing from her career in the emergency department. She is married with three children and two dogs, balancing the chaos of medicine with her love for travel, fitness, running, and family. When she’s not writing or working, she can usually be found savoring a quiet moment with a matcha latte, reflecting on the beauty in life’s smallest details.