The way that things burn

"im reading bout 

the way that things burn

on paper and in textbooks

-

im readin bout

the way things will burn

in some time or in no time"

-

sitting in my lover's lap 

on a chair on a porch of a house in new orleans

watching a cigarette turn to ash

i am thinking about self-immolation

about the way that things burn

-

i feel louisiana sunlight and louisiana tears kiss each other on my cheek 

i take a sip of whats left - a dedication

i sit with the taste

i think about whats left - a dedication

plenty to fight for 

-

and it hurts

aaron bushnell

the way that things burn

googling, again, the count 

of how many thousands of palestinians have been murdered in the past 5 months

in cold blood, in white hot greed

white phosphorous

(over 30,000 known dead, over 70,000 injured)

to the bone

(on fire, in uniform)

the way that things burn

-

—

-

now, sitting in a windowseat 

on a flixbus on a familiar bridge on a tuesday afternoon

wheels rolling westbound to my hometown

golden hour flickering on swamp water, 

refinery smoke kissing refinery fire

the way that things burn

-

we pass a smoldering field, branches still simmering

a quick clearing between cypress trees

and i blink and its gone,

surreal, 

and there are tears again in my eyes 

and i am so, so sorry for

the way that things burn

-

—

-

now, sun buried behind grey, 

i have goosebumps on my arms

i am checking the esims apps, on my phone, on the bus,

i am looking for movement 

i am looking for movement 

i am listening to babehoven in my headphones:

"im thinkin bout 

the way that we learn 

when everything is hopeless"

-

—

-

i am listening to npr when i run into danny,

mid-city bike-ride serendipity

i pull my car to the curb, he’s on his way to work

i turn down my radio, and step out of the sound

of headlines of israeli bombs, of the flour massacre,

they targeted aid trucks in northern gaza

it is not lost on me

that this is something that i can step out of

-

he came to see the half-charred house

it happened last night

the singe grants us a quick game of catch-up,

and a good look at the aftermath of

the way that things burn

-

—

-

it is quickly turning to spring here

the first blooms on impatient branches

and so we queue up to enter the third season of the most well-documented genocide of most of our lifetime

and hope is under it all, and above it all,

because it has to be

a throughline

because it has to be

-

it is whats left after the burning, 

and is what came before

and is what burns through, stronger and brighter than it all

-

and so we hope 

as a promise

as an ember

(over 30,000 palestinians known dead, over 70,000 injured)

and it hurts

(aaron bushnell, on fire, in uniform)

and im sorry

and i hope

as a ritual

as a need

as love

and i think about

the way that things burn

-

—

-

we carry the weight of the promise of tomorrow because it is our duty

because the comforts we have been afforded come directly from the suffering of our neighbors 

because the struggle is one that is shared, 

because so is the free future that the struggle begets

-

and i am thinking about the resonant ring of recent words, 

on the last night of these past six weeks of touring,

in baltimore, 

in a combination bookstore / record store / venue called normal's, 

when suzanne doogan read, in the last poem of her opening set, the line:

-

"all who are born in love are destined to be free"

-

and how i wept at the taste 

of the breathtaking truth of it

how i can feel it in my heart’s hands

how i can feel the way that it burns

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