I found the matchbook in a pocket

I found the matchbook in a pocket.

It felt like a key in a rusted socket.

The year I turned twenty-two, the sky

broke open and the lights went shy.

I sat in the diner, alone in the dark.

I didn't need a party or a spark.

Just a slice of pie and a cup of tea.

It was the quietest I'll ever be.

The match burned down until it bit.

I sat there in the middle of it.

No one called and no one came.

I didn't even say my name.