She Set Herself Aflame
Rachel Back

Do not look at your daughter in disgust
and say, “I raised you.”
Because she knows that in her,
you raised hell itself.

You raised the fire of the earth.
Put it in her soul where she tended 
the flame with careful hands, 
feeding it kindling until it burst from her 

like hairspray meeting the wicked
warmth. She refused to stop
when in her anger your world burned.
Consumed in hot golden flames,

were the pillars of hate you poured
the foundation for. Now ashes fall
towards the black scorched floor.
Do not look at her and despair

at the arsonist you have armed.
And when she sets out with match 
in hand to incinerate the pieces
of herself you crafted

with needle and thread, know that hell 
is your reward. And she walks
barefoot through the smoldering coals. 

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