Monday, August 22, 2022



Low plumes of white clouds on the horizon suggest a distant fire. I'm always driving toward conflagration. I’m drawn to all blazes. I chase after storms. Chuck stones at hornet’s nests.  Wave my hand over the licking flames.  Always getting a little too close. Fascinated by the flickerings of fire, the way it turns good wood to ash.  My first word was “hot”, learned the hard way, touching the orange glow of our electric stove. Mom said I hissed it like a feral cat. I watch the shivering people at bus stops in the winter and their little misted clouds of exhalation tell me everything will be alright.  That everyone still has a fire burning inside.  Chimneys spewing smoke reassure me. I feel safe. We’re all burning what we can to keep warm. Musings on my own death bring me around to the idea of cremation. I’d be a quick clean burn. Dry as the August grass. Spare the earth a long fetid rotting. May we all end in fire rather than ice. Dispersed like salt from ocean bluffs, drifting on the wind. Nothing for the worms and bacteria to desecrate. Terrified billionaires and their cryonic dreams of reanimation. Heaven is worse. No end at all. God gave fire to the devil as a gift to the damned. Smoldering for eons to an ashen residue. But at least it ends. Rain is how the world puts out its irrepressible wildfires. Rain is giving up. Rain is starting over. Drenching the earth in regret. Rainbows aren’t apologies. Rainbows are a reminder that even light can be broken, fractured into its component parts. I take the good and don’t make it better. I've screwed everything up.  No recourse but to burn it all down. Light it on fire once again. I’m getting closer and closer. Maybe I’ll get lucky this time. Maybe it’s all just big beautiful white clouds. 


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