heat melting the air; we had burning hearts and arid hearts;
girls’ bodies, burning; boys, hot, chasing us through the forest
o f flame, pushing us down; and we burned. Then there were
surreal flames, the ones we superimposed on reality, the
atomic flames on the way, coming soon, at a theater near you,
the dread fire that could never be put out once it was ignited; I
saw it, simple, in front o f m y eyes, there never was a chance, I
lived in the flames and the flames were a ghostly wash o f
orange and red, as i f an eternal fire mixed with blood were the
paint, and a great storm the brush. I lived in the ordinary fire,
whatever made them follow you and push you down, yo u ’d
feel the heat, searing, you didn’t need to see the flame, it was
more as if he had orange and burning hands a mile high; I
burned; the skin peeled off; it deformed you. The fire boils
you; you melt and blister; then I’d try to write it down, the
flames leaping o ff the cement, the embodiment o f the lover;
but I didn’t know what to call it; and it hurt; but past what they
will let you say; any o f them. I didn’t know what to call it, I
couldn’t find the words; and there were always adults saying
no, there is no fire, and no, there are no flames; and asking the
life-or-death question, you’re still a virgin, aren’t you; which
you would be forever, poor fool, in your pitiful pure heart.
Y ou couldn’t tell them about the flames that were lit on your
back by vandal lover boys, arsonists, while they held you
down; and there were other flames; the adults said not to
watch; but I watched; and the flames stayed with me, burning
in m y brain, a fire there, forever, I lived with the flames my
whole life; the Buddhist monks in Vietnam who burned
themselves alive; they set themselves on fire; to protest; they
were calm; they sat themselves down, calm; they were simple,
plain; they never showed any fear or hesitation; they were
solemn; they said a prayer; they had kerosene; then they were
lit; then they exploded; into flame; and they burned forever; in
my heart; forever; past what television could show; in its gray;
in its black and white and gray; the gray cement o f gray
Saigon; the gray robes o f a gray man, a Buddhist; the gray fire,
consuming him; I don’t need to close my eyes to see them; I
could reach out to touch them, without even closing my eyes;
the television went off, or the adults turned it off, but you
knew they were still burning, now, later, hours, days, the
ashes would smolder, the fire’d never go out, because if it has
happened it has happened; it has happened always and forever.
The gray fire would die down and the gray monk would be
charred and skeletal, dead, they’d remove him like so much
garbage, but the fire’d stay, low along the ground, the gray
fire would spread, low along the ground, in gray Saigon; in
gray Camden. The flames would stay low and gray and they
