Sigil – by Dana Sonnenschein

Cigarette foil origami –
a thousand cranes fly
above fallen trunks, filters
that take twenty years
to disintegrate.


Paper whispers against paper
and shredded leaves
as you show me how
a homeless man
taught you to roll.


Lick the edge, strike a match,
breathe in four elements,
the cigarette a sign
bringing wish into being,
a flick of feathery ash.


You smoke, touch
tobacco on your lip,
broken Zippo in your pocket.
I lean toward oblivion
for a light.



Dana Sonnenschein is a professor at Southern Connecticut State University, where she teaches Shakespeare, folklore, and creative writing. Her publications include books of poetry (Bear Country and Natural Forms) as well as two chapbooks of prose poems (No Angels but These and Corvus). Individual pieces have appeared in numerous print and online journals, and are forthcoming in Measure, Feminist Studies and elsewhere.

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