Trauma

by Lily Jin

A match lit sets off its burn and wilt Fire is an irreversible ritual The scent of smoke attaches to whatever stays near A subtle, straying souvenir

It lingers on my favorite knitted sweater A delicate garment unable to be thrown in the wash It’s dry clean only, but I can’t bear to pay So it sits, stitches fraying Discarded in a dark closet corner

Sometimes my lungs still burn and constrict A suffocating inhale that drags up my chest Warms my cheeks And threatens to spill over as tears

Only, water is a temporary reprieve It blooms smoke that sizzles in my ears The ash is soft but stains everything I touch

Slowly, a fire dies down The embers lie dormant, unassuming But its pulsing glow taunts crackles, snaps Reignition hangs in the air

A match once lit is determined Flame travels down the splint Dancing a lively path of destruction What’s touched cannot be unscorched