—John Adams
“Was clene bones & no wode & that is callid a bone fyre.”
—John Mirk’s Book of Festivals
| Follow us | trailing | lit necklaces, | crowns, | |||||
| cordially, | peacefully | toward the | water | |||||
| beelining | She called it | |||||||
| pagan, | She said, | buy me | ||||||
| a cone | ||||||||
| Many said fuck it | We won’t | |||||||
| participate | But she said | nah, | ||||||
| nah | we’re law-abiding | we’re gonna get | ||||||
| some | sprinkles, | miniature | ||||||
| flags | photograph | licking the | ||||||
| top | Now we’re close, | |||||||
| led | by locals | |||||||
| the | boats | bracing | ||||||
| water, | wavering | lights | ||||||
| Shoulder to | shoulder | compressed | ||||||
| No harsh | words | Just pass | by | |||||
| Cloister in | toward the pyre | |||||||
| Get inside | the crowd | |||||||
| She said | I hear | that | freedom song | |||||
| We hear | bells | |||||||
| There | over 20 ft | stacked wooden pallets | ||||||
| Here it | goes | here it | Firemen gather twos and | |||||
| threes | lighting up | |||||||
| First | A black stream | |||||||
| snakes | and then | |||||||
| smoldering | sky | |||||||
| The embers | buzzing | swarming | ||||||
| The townspeople | Our night | |||||||
| We can say | ours | |||||||
| Eyes | affixed | faces | aflame | |||||
| Language | bereft | |||||||
| This is not | hell | |||||||
