"Immolation" by Heidi Seaborn
Immolation
In the middle of our divorce
you fled
to Tunisia.
Not next door not
the town over
Tunisia
as Arab Spring smoldered —
loosely-packed pine needles sparked
by North African sun.
Could you feel it
walking
through November 7 Square
scattering young men like startled doves
to cluster in cafés untouched espresso
and cigarette smoke?
You wanted that, too —
let the match
burn down
singe your fingertips white
follow its flame to my ash.
Photo Credit: Staff