Mihir Bellamkonda
Volunteer Firefighter, Antigua
Noon breaks red
off obsidian cobbles and
as the mountain smokes my eyes are open to a life
that demands fire as a sanction for love.
The beer is salted. The sun erupts
along darkening curves of shoulders. Sweat,
sweat and sweet peppers to glance against the lips.
Burning life, I will be as wood—
perdón, perdón, I have stumbled against a man
reclined against the low yellow house,
yellow bread in his mouth alongside apology
for my sunblindness.
He pats the earth in welcome. I share
my water. And for a time we speak as birds,
our language more sound than definition.
And there is beauty in the way we look at the ground.
A bull dances in flames
between two frowning heroes
on his shirt. Underneath: Bomberos Voluntarios de Antigua.
A long minute, ten, and we companions part.
Evening unites blue
the heavens and earth;
there is rain as hummingbirds’ wings,
perceptible only through softness,
and I believe as I believe in uncomprehension
nothing in this wide green world is on fire.