Fireplace

Poem, or Flash Fiction?

I love how poetry and flash fiction can be alter egos. Usually, a form picks itself for whatever my idea is, but this one - a shape shifter - had an existential crisis and could not hold just one form. Which version of Fireplace do you like better, and why?

Fireplace

I saw my old flame
resting by the fire
hazy eyes combing the coals
for inspiration 

He prays to the sparks 
for one more day
and then another
caught between 
twin existential fears 
of both life
and death
so he nests
in the liminal space 
caressing his highball
drinking in the past
playing out
behind the 
sooty screen

The wind screams
outside the cabin
blowing the door open
slamming it behind me

he startles 
my smile hesitates 
melted ice and dregs of booze
scatter to the floor 
he reaches for me
across the steam rising 
between us
the corners of his mouth twitch
unsure which emotion to play
whether to trust
a ghost from the present 



Ok, so the ending of the poem might be a spoiler alert for the flash; sorry! 


Fireplace 

I saw my old flame resting by the fire; his hazy eyes combing the coals for inspiration.  He was alone, as always, praying to the sparks for one more day, and then another, caught between his existential fears of life, and of death.  Yesterday, he was nesting in the liminal space, caressing his highball like my cheeks, drinking in the past.

The wind screamed through the screen, blowing open the door, then slamming it shut, like an attention-seeking exclamation point.  He startled; my smile hesitated behind itself. Melted ice and dregs of booze scatter to the floor.  

He reaches for me across the steam rising between us.  The corners of his mouth twitch, unsure of which emotion to play; unsure of whether to trust a ghost from the present.

I think I prefer the flash, but then I think I prefer the poem. I guess I am caught in the space between as well. Please share your thoughts below: