The Strangest Fire
Vincent Hostak
March 7, 2021
from the ancient lava flow of the Malpais Valley of Fires Carrizozo, NM
I was once the strangest fire:
the strain of all the states of things
expelled from a dark and earthy core,
conspiring with wind and gravity
to crawl into this valley.
Fire to sand and sand to glass-
I wove this pale escarpment,
colored it with burning blossoms,
consumed the yucca to its roots, then
sealed their channels in the loam.
Gas to plasma, plasma to fire-
Magma like a swollen sea
pursuing hardened ammonites:
unwinding all their tortured curls
released as silt to bottom lands.
Fine is the ash of a bobcat’s bones,
the blackened scales of diamondbacks,
the shards of bowls and pit-house walls
layered beneath these ropey flows--
my rigid shell on the bottom lands.
Clarify! Reveal if you feel you must.
My shape wanders, willingly,
like nearby dunes, but slower now.
In my stupor I am not numb, but
I prefer the mystery of dust.
Lest you think I’ve settled here
into the many scars I scored, know
I rest with one eye to the world,
Praising heat, the scalding breeze
that moves the mantle near.
Vincent Hostak is a poet, essayist, and advocate. Long a resident of Texas, he resides in the intersection of city and wilderness near Denver. His poetry is published in Sonder Midwest (#5), Tejascovido.com, the Langdon Review of the Arts in Texas, and Wild, Abandoned (the blog). His podcast on refugee resettlement & culture: https://anchor.fm/crossingsrefugees.
