Hearing Anna

ii. the flame

first, a flicker.

then, a spark.

and then, she watches her match explode in the nighttime,

without reason,

without rhyme,

because in this dry winter season,

there is not a moment to spare for light.

she had it together,

she swore she did,

every word whispered in her ear was dismissed,

because nothing overpowered the feeling of bliss,

(though she had only felt it once).

she closed the grate for the hearth,

doused every single one of her wooden matches,

put out her lighter,

anything to keep it from singeing her heart.

but in the end,

her flames towered just too high,

and one day she woke with a start,

knowing something was wrong.

she only told him a lie,

said she'd had fun;

but she knew that potentially being burned

was less than desirable,

and far from a night well done.