Saturday, May 16, 2009

Here I go again... thinking about
something I shouldn't, playing with matches
when the lights are not even out.

Even if I did need the light,
I have no need of matches
when there are two flashlights

in the second drawer from the top;
I still don't need matches
(extra batteries in case the others flop).

Where did I put the box,
the red white, and blue box of matches?
Rummage in the basket where I drop

things I don't really need,
like a box of matches,
things I don't always know why I keep.

But I like them,
even silly matches.
Hey, I think I see them.

Yes, my fingers recognize
the cardboard of the box of matches.
Interesting, it's smaller in size

than I remembered, but maybe not.
Maybe my idea of matches
grew in my mind as I thought

of striking a match,
though I have no need of a match,
a match, the match, the lovely match.

Top and bottom smooth to touch.
That brings back memories of matches.
Bumpy sides, mmmm, rough.

My fingers are getting quite a thrill
stroking the box-- I want a match.
One finger pushes, open... the smell!

The smell of fiery temptation
to light a single match.
One little match isn't damnation.

Close the box and push through
the drawer full of matches.
In the other end I view

not just the long, yellow shafts, ridged,
sultry wooden matches,
the round, red heads, potential flame hid.

Not going to touch it... quietly gaze
upon the powerful match heads
waiting to be struck, to ignite, to blaze.

Sighing, longing to pick one up.
One of the sweet, sturdy matches,
Comparing. One of them is different from

the rest. That is the one I will hold
above all the other matches.
They can stay in the box, in the cold.

This match is my match for now,
but it won't take long for the match
to burn bright. Then the flame will go out.

I do not light but tease, strokes long,
up and down the sides, the head, the match,
twirling in my fingers, wondering if I'm wrong

to light the match if I don't need
to. If only I did not want to light the match,
the match, this hot little match that's got me--

Reason not to strike:
That is a wasted match.
But there are plenty more inside.

Reasons to strike, more than "not," but few:
The smell, the red and yellow flame of the match.
The heat. And I have nothing to lose...

...except the match.

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