on a prairie, golden fields, evening sun, a light wind, sweat,
wheat swaying on rolling hills.
standing, you and i. you hold a matchbox, reveal a 12 inch
wooden stick, press your index finger against the bulb head,
strike. the flame launches up and out, flung high and far,
smooth like a fiery lawn dart.
the match lands. i trail, slowly, under the arc, look down --
a small flame, nice and neat like a bunsen burner's
initialization fire, flickering yellow, contained, stares back
at me. i place my index finger in my mouth, moisten, reach
down and put out the flame. sizzling. smoke.
i look up, you're far from me, flicking another match. i follow
the flame, terminate the emerging fire.
this process continues. new launch sites. new fires. new
terminations. i finally say, "you know, this could start a
real fire, the whole prairie could catch." you ignore me and
while crouching to extinguish this flame, i watch a previous
flame re-emerge, unsilenced -- it rises to a roar, crackles,
grass burns, wheat smokes, fire swells, the prairie erupts in