Setting Myself on Fire to Give You Sun by Allison DeDecker

"The only thing I want,"

you said.

"is a piece of the sun

for my floor lamp. I'll

save it for a rainy day,

when the sky is gloom

and depression creeps under

my comforter.

Flip a switch: burn them out."

So I climbed the mountain

that scrapes the sky. Frog-hopped

out of Earth's hedge hurdled

over asteroids pinballed

between stars trampolined

off the Moon into the flaming

foam pit of our Sun. Fought

my way out of stellar gravity

a shard between my teeth, gift-wrapped

it in shiny mylar.

But that little speck of sun

devoured with a thousand licking tongues

swallowed me whole

spat me out as human torch.

I melted me-shaped holes

through all five layers of atmosphere,

and your front lawn.

Finally I extinguished;

one smoking hand still holding

the 14k pure molten nugget.

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Allison DeDecker is currently based in Yuma, AZ, USA. She draws inspiration from day-to-day life, current events, and the natural world. Her work has been published in Colorado Crossing Literary Journal, Perfumed Pages and Goats Milk Magazine, with more forthcoming in Pile Press. Connect with her on Twitter @AllisonDeDecker.