Little Matchstick Man
He had matchstick hands
burning everything he touched, lighting up
everywhere, looking for
gasoline girls
leaving them burning
wondering if they had wanted to be set on fire
When I heard about the others
the ones who came after me
the other ones with scorch marks
I thought about your hands
how they seemed gentle
how you probably still think they are
Thought about the way you made me feel
like all that fire was just for me
Thought about how I would still wake up
ash in my mouth
even when I thought
the fire had long since
been put out
Thought about how I could still see the imprint of the flame
when I closed my eyes
But now
I think maybe the burn marks weren’t my fault
I think I put that torch down for good
And if I still see the scars in certain lights
and if I still smell the smoke on bad days
so be it
the smoke is clearing
I will breathe easy again
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Grace Moore is a writer from Washington. She writes fiction, creative nonfiction, and the occasional poem. She also writes articles on travel, mental health, writing, and books. Sometimes she’s funny, or at least that’s what her mom says. Follow her on Instagram @gracieawriter.
