My thumb digs into the grooved metal of the striker wheel,
pressing and flicking to ignite my lighter.
It sputters and clicks, trying to form that precious flame,
and then it dies.
So I switch to matches.
My fingers tremble as I fish out one of the wooden sticks,
scraping it against the side of the matchbox.
I strike and strike, praying for a flare.
The scent of smoke curls around me, but there is no light.
Time and time again, they fail me,
leaving me in darkness
without my spark.

Editor: Shannon Hensley