small girls ablaze

by Ivi Hua

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//in all these years/ i’ve learned to fear the damp & dark
hollows/ where bodies fall/ slip & shatter to mere
memory./ i’ve tried to teach myself the whispers of the
breezes/ the languages of love.// still, all these years/ & i
still haven’t learned enough to keep/ the sorrow away./ last
week, i didn’t/ see the light of day as i should have.// there
was/ no sun for my ragged eyes/ no rest for this body.//
sometimes, in this dazed stupor, i doubt our stars./ & yet, i
am certain that/ in the mirror,/ there are six, seven, eight,/
a dozen/ small girls ablaze, my face carried on each one of
the/ darlings,/ their bodies small vessels for flame.// once, i
brought the looking-glass to the closet/ my legs folded
against my body/ breath coming too quickly/ & these
set-alight girls & i,/ we wept until daybreak./ i thought i
could extinguish our flames.// i thought/ i could be pieced
whole/ once more.// still, sometimes, i watch them./ i try
to tell them that we will be alright/ but they do not listen./
so instead i stay as long/ as i can/ with these small girls
ablaze,/ trying/ to ward off the dark.//

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Ivi Hua is a dreamer, writer, and poet based in the United States. She has a deep love for the sea and the sky, and you can find her @livia.writes.stories on Instagram. Her works have been published in Paper Crane Journal, Juven, and Outlander Zine among others.