The Forgetfulness of Fire
I witnessed a blaze.
Afterwards, while holding a wooden board covered with the photographs of all the local fire starters, a policeman demanded of me:
“Point out to me
the author of this
inferno.”
I was unable –
the man I had seen was
as non-descript as love.
I tried, though:
“He was as tall as his
highest point.
He was slim and extremely
heavy set.
He wore a distinct beard
that was entirely clean-shaven.
Um,
his eyes were the same
color as one another”
In a press conference about the incident
later that evening, the police chief would
announce that:
“There has been absolutely
no progress made on this
case.”
On the walk home – as I
dragged my
disgrace like
a dog with no
legs -
I was approached
by a flame; one of
those from the fire.
I recognized him
instantly,
he was handsome
and
in flux
We sat on a bench
and talked for a while.
He asked me for a light,
which I thought was
odd.
Of course, I wanted to ask,
“why the light?”
But instead I asked,
“do you like your job? Or, is it,
you know, just a job to
you?”
He replied,
“Well, it’s more than just a job –
it’s really who I am –
it doesn’t really feel like
work anymore.
I just,
(Pause)
burn.”
“Mmm” I said.
Then, I asked,
“If you don’t mind me asking
…who started you?”
(Now my head was filled with
heroic visions of my glorious return
to the police station with the
culprit’s name – the press
conference – the flashbulbs –
the fleeting gilt of fame)
The flame looked at me
and for a moment I thought
I had offended him,
But then he replied,
“To be honest
I’d really struggle
to describe him
to you.
In fact, I say him…
It might not
even have
been a
man.”
Video: Tightrope - Janelle Monae
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