༺ Yarn ༻

weedkiller and sugar
burned with a supernatural light
a fierce lancing
to the eyes
utterly
fascinating

my brother packed it
into a big glass jar
and made a fuse
out of string

in the lee of a fallen log
I lit that string
the flame wouldn’t blow out
to smoulder slowly
but instead raced along
my eleven year old face
inches away

turning to run
at the last second
I remember wheeling
off my feet
the glass hitting my back
whistling past my ears
I was most impressed
that I could briefly make out
a me shaped hole
in the blasting debris

lying on my back
listening to a very high note
my brother called my name

distantly