“A Match Can Become a Witch If a Child Makes It So” by Jay Sheets
A Match Can Become a Witch If a Child Makes It So
She pilfers a patch of cornflowers. She carries a storm in her mother’s eye. She is the thing that moves through trees, in shock of the seed pointing downward. She takes a bloodstone from her pocket, skips it across a sleeping lake. Across the lake, fireweed rings a burning trunk— a transient grove of electric story. The fire fell from the claw of the bird with many masks. On a ritual mask, the mouth can be omitted. A fish belongs to the lake, a fish her father was never able to eat. The fish’s gaze hangs in the air like a paper banner— Did you know you can harness the energy of a cloud if you pluck the eyes from the fingers of the nun whose face is a window? Breton saw a man cut in two by the window. The man was a fish seeking thunder in piles of sticks. He learned to count the sticks … and pomegranates, fruit’s frequent potential: the space within seeds is measured by need. They sail through the strings of a harp, our apparitions. She jumps into an eclipse off a cliff that becomes an arm. See, she’s died twice with seeds in her teeth-teeth-teeth.
Jay Sheets is a poet, writer, and researcher. His debut book, The Hour Wasp, was released by April Gloaming Publishing in 2017. Sheets’ poems and writing have appeared in numerous journals and magazines. He received a BFA in Creative Writing from Goddard College in Vermont and currently lives in Plymouth, Massachusetts.