Fire Autobiography

Fire Autobiography

Flames, fire with red, yellow and orange centers
And I thought yellow was a gentle color
Coal burns while the flame centers into a crisp
It’s great for eating marshmallows but not so great
 when it pricks your finger
Ouch.
S’mores, delicious
Forest fires that burn to the ground
Warmth around the campfire
Well, that’s where it all starts
It invites me in for a cup of hot tea
We chat before it burns me
Wood burns in the fireplace as you 
 are waiting for it to go out
Lighters
Matches
How do you start a match?
Here.
You hear the flames’ noise coming
 from the streets of Germantown
Black smoke rises from the building
Red flashy fire trucks zoom around the corner
“Water, Water, we need water.”
But hey, it’s none of my business.

-Talee Bey

Nelson Mandela is My Ideal

Look at Nelson with an arm raised, hand to some chalk board.
His grin so white you can see angels casting plaque bugs into the
 depths of hell, right on his enamel.
His hair up with white heat jumbled through
Nelson! I want to wear dashikis with you and give each other
 hair care tips
We'll fix apartheid nations.
Let’s go play soccer and roll on Robert Mugabe with brotherly
 love
You can tell me about Robben Island. 0221141011
How ‘bout we watch action movies together
bowl of popcorn in your wizened old lap
I'll eat Junior Mints
You can comment on the senselessness of violence
I'll agree
But in my heart of hearts I'll still wish I was Jason Statham
We can build a tree house with a zip line
We can sit back and eat crumb cake and watch the clouds in our
 matching Teva sandals
Then I will imagine you, Nelson.
50 feet tall vanquishing a lion with love in a stained glass
 window in some South African cathedral

- Nick Dekker

Sky

5 p.m. New Hampshire: Raining hard on a cool summer day, I
            put my hand into moist soil,

8 a.m. San Francisco: There is a frigid breeze, as frost dwells on
           my Petunias in the air softened window.

15:00  Tokyo: My  eyes, sleep ridden, begin to close on the Tokyo
           skyline. I want to see your electronic glow, your strange
           culture that wears cough masks!

10  p.m. Ventnor, NJ: The simple hum of cars and trucks coexists
            with the dry, sea-hungry sirens that blow into my face.

2  a.m. In the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, on a sailing ship: I
            am reminded of my home as the wind reaches its brink

5 a.m. Gobi Desert: The sky is the limit as our caravan reaches
           the hostel. The pastel sky suits the frigid kisses of the red
           constellations, closest to human form as they will ever be.

3 p.m. Northern Guatemala: I drink the solid bean paste. The
           humidity suits its thick, pungent splendor.

4:30 a.m. My home on 1230 Wrack Road: I stumble into my
           machine made tank top and bicycling shorts, electrical
           tape gels onto my road bike.

- Sam Ritz