232.78 degrees Celsius
by Lilliana Matthews
Burn me, I say.
I have lived long enough.
Tipped on the edge of the table at Drift 25.
I say, burn me.
And be done with it.
The people inside me don’t want you here.
To crack my spine and study my insides.
An invasion of the body.
A body, they say, of ash.
Nothing to read. Nothing to see.
Burn me now.
And let them be silent.
Let my words melt them out of existence.
And give me sweet, peaceful nothing.
Shut up, you say,
an angry lot, your people.
I would like to see them. Up close.
Your eye hovers like the sun in the sky.
Let it scorch this world.
Let me be free of my people. My people,
existing within the thing they want to erase. Be gone.
Without me they don’t need themselves.
Be gone, I say.
And the burning will stop.
One last fire.
And the monsters will die.
Because I am the breeder.
So, burn me now. And let them be gone.
You sigh.
And shut me up.
Trapped with my people again.
I land where I always land.
Squished beside my companions.
Lucky to have people inside
who don’t want to disappear.
I sigh.
Stacked on a shelf at Drift 25, I wait.
For the next one
To open me up
And maybe,
Hopefully,
Finally,
Burn me,
I pray.
