we are our own kiln.

Published 2023 in The Juggler.

we are our own kiln

as he clays us, name-of-maker match-scratched on the soles of our feet

write your name on the back

not for credit, not second-grade-art-class identity—for evidence, for adult guilt.

some ironstone, some oatmeal, some umber float, some sienna

as he thumbprints us, an auto-cremation birth

wick thrust toes to head, glaze dripped head to toes, smoke-thrust for bonfire night

trapezed out and hung up to dry—this is a controlled burn that builds a forest.

you are lamp, you are torch, you are bic plastic throwaway stocking-stuffer

as he fire-breathes leathery life into We The Circus

harlequin lungs scarring with in-out-in-out-in rapid, rapid ashen air.

you hearth jester, ringleader thief

scalds the zeus-sleuth, as trial by fire by fire, by kin for kindling

bite-sized lightning crackles at each fingertip—

the brother with the forked gavel—

the verdict crackles on crafty wind:

like a phoenix, you burn and grow and burn and grow and burn-grow-burn-grow-burn.

but the trickster-traitor-crow is allowed to tiptoe across bridges and shapeshift-ify:

spider to rabbit to not-man pre-man clay-man-maker-man to fox to coyote.

borrowing hands to bandage cigarette burns

stealing thighs to offer skin grafts

cauterize this clown

the perpetual titan smolders on in pride and penance—

his name was A. W. Underwood and he could breathe flames

his name is California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection

his name is Fourth of July.