LIKE KEROSENE || Marie Hoffman

How is it that you
could love me so,
with every part of
my body shattered,
each little piece
glimmering in sunlight?

How is it that you
ask me to love them
with every crack, every
failure that holds them
together? Love will ripple
like kerosene. Love is light.

Set me on fire.
See how flame
licks flesh, orange
bursts from body
and catches, the world
illuminating around us
with shadows drawn
across their faces. Their
eyes are bright, wet
with shine, fighting
the fire, the sting.
Watch me burn.

Marie Hoffman received her MFA in Creative Writing from EWU in 2014. During her program, she was the senior editor of Willow Springs Edition. She currently lives in Seattle with her husband, daughters, and cat, and teaches English Foundations of Writing, Composition, and Rhetoric at Northwest University in Kirkland. Her works are featured in Up the Staircase Quarterly, Avalon Literary Review, Sierra Nevada Review, the Menteur, and Sheepshead Review.


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