Sparklers

The wide-eyed, pig-tailed girl inhales deeply and smells the residue of old flame. 


This week i am a used sparkler stick. 
All the glitter and magic has fallen off, burned out.
I twist myself around but no matter what
           configuration i convolute
my limbs into,
I cannot
write

my
name

in
the
sky.


Musty and crusty, i fling myself onto the abyss of the gravel driveway.


Deciding to have a pity parade
i ignore the revelers dancing around me. 
If i can't be majestic again, I have no reason to celebrate.
I will refuse to look into the heavens and marvel at the brilliance of others.


The girl, sticky-fingered from Superman ice cream, bends over and picks me up. 
She clutches me like a wand or a scepter, spinning my darkened form in the air.


[you wont let me go]


She won't discard me because my luster has extinguished. 


[I don't deserve to be held this tightly.]


This must be
Grace.