A Man Burned Alive is Reincarnated as a Firefighter
Poetry of sacrifice
Kinship with ash,
he once wept smoking a cigarette.
Why do my tears smell like gasoline?
Nightmares in orange,
he’s sweat enough to saturate cities.
Sometimes, he dreams he is Joan of Arc.
Skin charred like paper,
blood still escapes
through the cracks, a dark syrup.
His armor gets heavy,
breath shallow in the smoke,
searching for survivors,
he loses his voice,
feels his ashen jaw come unhinged,
remembers the prayer he muttered
before first touching the flame:
Let me live again
as an ocean avenging an effigy.