Updated: Jul 14, 2021
Published in One Art:
Each time she strikes a match, she tilts her head back, imagines she is entering a Coke bottle’s
glass neck, swallowing the last threads of sulfur before its saw-toothed cap snaps on.
After she seals her lips around the head of torch, she exhales with ease
to release the flames of attachment she has been holding her entire life.
A siren of gratitude widens its range. What is empty cannot be destroyed.