First Fires Poem by Siddharth Kumar Mehta

When I was little I used to flip to the last page of my chosen library book first and read it aloud to myself.
I thought by doing this I would be made privy to some secret information.
I could outsmart the author and figure it all out before he or she intended.
I could win.
Everything was a game.
Nowadays, I avoid the last page as long as possible.
I abandon books all over my apartment.
One lays with its spine cracked open on the arm of my couch
while another curls on the floor under my bed asleep.
I don't want to get to the end of anything anymore.
I only want beginnings:
First sentences striking like matches on the roof of my mouth.
Igniting like the first fires on earth.