“Burn” by Ah-Keisha McCants

I’m on the mend

Fixated on things that don’t burn

I threw out my lava lamp just to be safe

In the course of three weeks

My skin has rejected my spirit

The inner workings of corroded grease from Popeyes

Fried my Natural

Delusions of cinders

Tug on My gender ensconced in altruism

One of the finest modes of duress is dressing down

Soaking each and every comfort til the methane stinks the room

Pouring from my night sweats

Leaking through my panty-less bottoms

Searing ash wafts from my disarmed smoke thrower

In a rage like a faux martyr I inhale the CO2

Curiously bonding with pink oil

The friction of flint and steel rips the cloth on my headscarf

Brittle hairs flare but I

Break away within silent spaces

Putting away the wool

Shame dulls my locks as if the tender spit against the coal were its highlights

But I’m on the mend

Turning a corner

Across the street from sobriety and it’s close enough dammit

To cause a six alarm

But I don’t own matches

In my recovery I simmer on a gas flattop

You can see the riding heat

You can turn down the nozzle

But it’ll take some time

Ah-Keisha McCants is an award-winning writer living on the east coast. She has been featured in Source Magazine, Backstage, Courier Post, and the Village Voice. Ah-Keisha is currently Senior Editor of Duende, a literary journal of the BFA Writing program at Goddard College. Follow her at www.kindredwisdom.tumblr.com