Each time she strikes a match, she tilts her head
back, imagines she is entering a Coke bottle’s
glass neck, swallowing the last threads of sulfur
before its saw-toothed cap snaps on.
After she seals her lips around the head
of torch, she exhales with ease
to release the flames of attachment
she has been holding her entire life.
A siren of gratitude widens its range.
What is empty cannot be destroyed.
Susan Michele Coronel lives in New York City. She has a B.A. in English from Indiana University-Bloomington and M.S.Ed. in Applied Linguistics from the City University of New York. Her poems have been published in or are forthcoming in publications including The Night Heron Barks, Prometheus Dreaming, Amethyst Review, Hoxie Gorge Review, TAB Journal, Ekphrastic Review, and Passengers Journal.