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.