Met My Match

crack. scribble. scraaatch.

strike. light. scratch.

I've brought one match.

feet flighty, still shaking, I run to gather forest brush

from trees downed by storm

and I know soon, clouds will come for me.

I light the brush on the shore.


at night, each night,

I watch my shadow.

my new mirror

my new goddess

my one friend.


at day, each day,

I eat seaweed

I eat sand.

unable to open a coconut,

I throw it in the fire to make

toasted roasted coconut

for a cake.

a cake I will make out of sand.


sand holds many possibilities.

I can throw it on the fire to make glass

to make a window

so I can stare out of it

like an antidepressant commercial

to convey my boredom with living alone.


but alas! there is art to make!

I use charcoal on leaves

and make mandalas washed away by tides.

I write by screaming into the sky

so some god can write it down for me.

and alone, my fireside shadow is my audience.


food deprived,

making roasted toasted coconut cake out of sand,

I reach an epiphany.

I scream to god in the sky


and I need to tell everyone.

where's the people?

where's the wildlife?


oh... shit.

where's the flame?



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