IMMOLATION

I dream that I’m awake and it’s spring
on the farm and we are burning the fields
to get them ready for planting hay
and Mother’s wild flowers

As the fire burns crouching bushes and dead grass
I see writhing Buddhists on fire

Moving closer I hear their final moaning prayers
crackling for all sentient beings

I move closer
the heat singes my brow and cheeks

I hear a siren:
FIRE ON THE PLAIN/FIRE ON THE BRAIN PAN/I AM ON FIRE

I move closer
a flame ignites inside my skull:
Dad’s death last winter torched
all the trees I have ever planted about myself

I move closer
and watch passively as all the leafy personas burn up:
father-filmmaker-farmer-poet-horseman-somebody’s lover...

I say goodbye to all of them-
Each one their own Buddhist bonfire...
burning.

The lead sky darkens
a southwesterly pushes a rain squall across the field

Wet and cold
the field is smoke and ash
burnt down husks

I look up the hill at Mom’s house
where Dad’s boney ashes sit in a box
in front of a window

I go back to the barn
to decide what seeds to plant

Robert McGinley
Revised 6/16/06