99 Matches
I stop,
and a trail of 99 black matches followed.
At the sight of you, my hands shelter the little candle between my palms.
You sport the sun on your shoulders, but you’re etched with a darkness that rivals the night.
Still, you could give me what many cannot:
a warmth that asks for nothing in return
I speak: “Share your sun with me?”
You seethe: “Is your candle not enough?”
I never got the warmth of your sun, but I felt the heat of your anger.
The fire in your spiteful heart left me burned and blistered.
The ice in your narrowed eyes left me frozen in fear.
The weight of your sharp tongue left me with fallen spirits.
But my little candle still flickered, and you were still furious.
You pinched the flames with your fingers, and we both watched it breathe out a string of smoke.
Soon, you left with a scowl, but your sun stayed to glare at me.
Standing beneath it, I felt nothing but cold.
I was reminded:
The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows.
But I will always follow the sun, even if I melt into its shadows.
Because the outlines of darkness speak more to the lengths of its golden rays.
I remind myself:
Burns will heal
Ice will thaw
Spirits will rise.
Before my feet, sat a lonely match. I wouldn’t have seen it without your sun.
The match sparked, breathing flames into the wick of my little candle.
The fire shimmered, as did I.
I sat my little candle in the palm of my open hands and the fire pointed north,
So, I walked,
and a trail of 100 black matches followed.