The Fieldstone Review

Match Box

by Meryl Reinhart

  At times I am the flame
  Atop a teetering match
  Carefully held
  Between nimble fingers.
  Capable of great destruction
  Of eternal rage;
  Or capable of great good,
  Like warming hands like yours.

  But then,
  At times,
  I am the striking surface –
  Used and abused
  By flames glow bright
  And then forgotten
  In their path of light.