"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