Matchstick City

There are no legos.

No lincoln logs.

Just a box of matchsticks;

and so she let her imagination run

away from her,

away from home.

Her delicate hands open the box

and gently dump its contents on the table.

For a moment she gazes at the chaotic pile in front of her.

Then one by one the matchsticks come together;

building a hut at first,

growing until it becomes a city.

Smiling to herself, she calls to her mother

wanting to show off her newest creation.

A few minutes later her mom stumbles in

Slurring her speech with a cigarette hanging from her mouth.

She leans over the table, almost shouting:

“Why are you wasting all my matches?”

The little girl cringes as she looks up,

tears slowly forming in her eyes.

They slide down her cheek and begin to fall,

each drip echoing as it splashes on the table.

While these tears fell

So did the embers from her mother’s cigarette.

And that’s when everything started to burn.