The Ritual As he lights the candle he thinks of laughing wood, of miniature suns budding in his grasp. He dips his hand, a galaxy of clipped nails, towards the hesitant wax. It catches like the flu, like the pox and robes itself in flame. The candle bursts into song a breathy tune his ears can’t catch His eyes are swallowed, sunken by the edge of a sunflower petal. He presses his hand to the flame, allows it to caress him. He feels nothing, no more than cloth brushed against skin And then in a cascading scream, he burns. His hand lives the tune. The raging petals finally open, fully bloomed.
VALENTINA CANO Valentina Cano is a student of classical singing who spends whatever free time she can muster up either writing or reading. She lives in Miami and you can find her here web: coldbloodedlives.blogspot.com. 27