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You called her the Firestarter


Arsh Haque, Class of 2015 
You called her the Firestarter
 
"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!" - Alexander Pope


We were at a coffee shop
on Bardstown Road.

I was Joel and
you were Clementine
and we had nothing
but tapes.
It was our second second date.
You got a vegan cookie

and I sat outside sucking

on second-hand smoke.
Then we walked

through certain

half-deserted streets

and I didn't mention Eliot once.
Then I looked at you

and said

Sirens bellowed, the crashing
roar of a city against

the sky. A pre-Copernican time

and we were at the center

gods aloft a polis

a stone bunker abandoned

in the eighties and converted

into a religious center

Death at every cardinal

direction. There was nothing
but you and short hair

and a palm by my side.

There were clocks everywhere,

ticking like insecurities.

A church, a family, a wall,

Steve Carrell and the

apocalypse. Every moment
a deathnote in a
dirge, and we wore white.

Made it a Muslim
cemetery, where

death meant nothing

but life.

Then a surgeon came in,

cut out a chunk of frontal lobe

and there was dark.

I had no words, nothing but
the red pulsing light.

Before Midnight was over

and it was raining

like your second marathon.
I was alone

a stony throne.

It was four and my hand

was in your hair.

Bad dreams and daydreams

and chocolate waterfalls.

God was by your side

whispering in your ear.

And I looked at you

and said

I give up.

No, I give in.

I...'d give anything to remember

what I actually said. But

I can't. It's stuck

the Big Bang's cosmic egg

explosive and reborn

trapped in a Grecian urn.

So we do the only thing

we can, and become
particle physicists.

Smash little bits of ourselves

together until we're a flesh

and exploding all over

again and know everything

but the words.

A few stars twinkle, less than

we hoped. Caught in the

haze of ash and firework smoke.

The fire's out and we're cold

and you're telling me about

the Firestarter. I get

on a knee for the second time

and blow. The embers crackle

like eyes and with nothing

but breath,

we're alive.

Arsh Haque is a senior McConnell Scholar from Elizabethtown, Ky. He is studying political science.