Not one properly teardrop-shaped

Perhaps the matches were damp, steadfast flames

didn’t burn in teardrop shapes, the ones I lit

sputtered, went out, and I never could claim

perfect mastery over fire, or matchsticks.

There was no moving warmth, except the burn –

fierce in my pot,  but that was more like acid,

salt sharp, shrivelling – it took years to learn

that only certain fires warm relationships.

The ones I struck fluttered the wrong colour

saffron and not crimson, blue and not brick

if they caught at all, burnt lower and duller

the spectrum just not mainstream attractive.

But they’re also fine. This salt being a misfit.

Flames that burn short. Alone. And damp matchsticks.