Striking Matches
Justice Rebmann
“To begin, begin.”
— William Wordsworth
My words trip and tap and clack,
but won’t click.
They stu-tter and stu mb l e,
into-each-other, into bubbles, push and pop,
flicker and go out— but not quite
yet— I won’t let them go out,
my little barking flames wild
with a desire to sing
words I can’t put to paper,
only seem to think,
for when I do, they shatter,
but maybe it’s the
sound
that matters.
Maybe it’s the sound that matters.
Flick-er, flick-er
burst bright—
but back again into the night
they fly, elusive. I fight for the ones that
stick, but my matches stick together like
candy and when I twist and pull, they
won’t come apart, like
the yearnings in me
that fight to be heard,
drowning in the narrow tubes of my heart,
and maybe I just need to start.
With sticky candy sticks
and a sticky heart,
until it all melts away into caramel,
and I’ll wonder why I waited so long,
when it really just took that long
to be okay with words
that bark
and shiver
before they begin
to spark.
