Ignite
by Sarah Rohrs
I find the broken piece of mirror in the bathroom and press the point into my palm, drawing the blood. They think we hide. But they don’t know we never refuse the brew and the curse. Those of us with the thick thighs and ripe mouths at the full moon. Didn’t they notice the smoke after the long white dress ignited in the store window? This time, the last call is ricocheting off the green velvet table. They’ll remember this after this night. I take the end of the candle out of my purse along with the mashed cigarettes. The wax drips and I spell out the strange lines in the scars. I spread the red drops of the potion on my lips. Outside the music is thumping, and the skirts and boots are flashing. Maybe I’ll wait until the song is over to choose. Maybe they’ll be some tears. Maybe it’s true I never did know how to love.
Sarah Rohrs
Sarah Rohrs is a former newspaper reporter and drunk, who now teaches children to read and write while listening closely to their endless chatter. She takes photos, loves trees, pines for other times and places, and has written poetry for eons.
Spooky and enigmatic, someone is about to step over a threshold, and I think we’ll be unable to hold that person back. Then again, we may not want to.