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on tuesday they caught fire.
standing in the rain with their umbrellas open, faces to the wind, not really looking where they were going--maybe they saw their feet--they walked and caught fire, a dozen people on the sidewalk.
not in an explosive way but quietly, white smoke in the gray rain and the brilliant flower of red. it was quiet--you had to look to know it was happening. they didn't cry, there was none of that, they just went about their daily lives, their daily walks, and the umbrellas did nothing to shelter them above or below.
they walked and their bodies turned to ash in the rain, this gray tuesday rain, and it was like nothing had changed. it smelled of nothing but the city, exhaust and fumes and the occasional clean wetness beside a concrete-choked tree.
like people in any city they walked with purpose: there was only a single destination for each of them, and each of them would go until they reached it. almost like the postal service.
they walked off and i watched them, because it was tuesday and i was trapped inside. from my desk i saw them, and the vision expanded to the entire city, people in the rain, in tuesday fire, walking away to somewhere unknown.
in the evening i walked with my umbrella open and my face to the wind, but all i found was the smell of ash and rain.
standing in the rain with their umbrellas open, faces to the wind, not really looking where they were going--maybe they saw their feet--they walked and caught fire, a dozen people on the sidewalk.
not in an explosive way but quietly, white smoke in the gray rain and the brilliant flower of red. it was quiet--you had to look to know it was happening. they didn't cry, there was none of that, they just went about their daily lives, their daily walks, and the umbrellas did nothing to shelter them above or below.
they walked and their bodies turned to ash in the rain, this gray tuesday rain, and it was like nothing had changed. it smelled of nothing but the city, exhaust and fumes and the occasional clean wetness beside a concrete-choked tree.
like people in any city they walked with purpose: there was only a single destination for each of them, and each of them would go until they reached it. almost like the postal service.
they walked off and i watched them, because it was tuesday and i was trapped inside. from my desk i saw them, and the vision expanded to the entire city, people in the rain, in tuesday fire, walking away to somewhere unknown.
in the evening i walked with my umbrella open and my face to the wind, but all i found was the smell of ash and rain.
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