"Paper
Matches”
My aunts washed dishes while the uncles
squirted each other on the lawn with
garden hoses. Why are we in here,
I said, and they are out there.
That’s the way
it is,
said Aunt Hetty,
the shrivelled-up one.
I have the rages that small animals
have,
being small, being animal.
Written on me was a message,
“At Your Service,” like a book of
paper
matches. One by one we were
taken out
and struck.
We come bearing supper,
our heads on fire.
— Paulette Jiles