Hagiography of Brother Fire and Sister Smoke by Rigoberto González
- Brother Fire
Feed me. Feeeed me. These are not
the only words it knows but they’re
the only words it needs. And most times,
it’s two words too many. Most times,
it’s coaxed awake easily and on instinct
grinds the air between its teeth. Wild
creature, a stomach in a coat of quills that
chews through anything within its reach.
Was it the caveman who first discovered
its potential—weapon or tool? Was it
the caveman who first found out it could
possibly be tamed? The others saw a fireball
careening down the hill, the creature fastened
like a second skin, a screech so singular
because this pain was new though it would be
an affliction a second body suffered through
before the sun would set again. Oh sad
addiction to destruction, to the voyeuristic
impulse to witness mass flower and wilt
into a shadow of itself. Oh dark ghost.
Prometheus was a fool to trust
the mortals who squander ingenuity
on ammunition. Even the man who
first held the wooden flute eventually
beat his neighbor with it, or so the story
goes. And when his instrument sang
out of tune he fed it to the creature who,
mad with insatiable hunger, ate the musician
too. The neighbor raised a bowl of water
to his lips and smiled as only the wicked
do. The gods looked over at the Titan
with his liver gouged and thought:
What pity to waste such a gift on
the petty, how tragic this magic turned
curse. When he figured out how to burn
things to the ground out of spite, revenge
or the sheer perverse pleasure of causing
harm, that’s when the human and this
monstrosity became inseparable. Thus
the history of fire became the history of man.
Man, imperious and arrogant, named it
to claim it, to deceive himself into
believing it was under his command.
Incinerator, he called it, Purifier, Blaze,
Consumer of Detritus and Waste. But
this creature answered to many other
names as well: Arson, Napalm, Immolation,
Fire Bomb, Dragon Breath, though in the end
its purpose was the same: to feed.
Feeed me, it begs, and its keeper complies
with cornfield, sugar cane, mesquite.
The more it eats, the more it craves,
mirroring its master’s appetite so
greedy its hunger is mostly whim and
indulgence. Feeeed me, it whines, though
if the human ear could listen it would hear
Neeeed me. Need me, as in, The want
is all you, you belly aching baby, you
bored glutton, you bow-legged bitch
bastard son of a shit-binging baboon.
That’s right: you shove everything you
hate down my goddamn throat so how
else do you expect me to fucking talk,
you overstuffed bile sausage, you bloated
sac of bloody buffalo balls? The insult
darkens into carbon and drifts out of
earshot, just another disappearing act
for a thing to never be. Selective erasure:
refusing to remember, aiming to forget.
And that’s the reason, Fire, you’ve become
man’s favorite pet. Prized in the cage of his
black stone heart you’ll never die of neglect.
- Sister Smoke
Call me Sister Smoke, groan that rises from
the burning wound, Brother Fire’s fetid afterbirth,
its stink a sting—a thorn stuck in your throat—
the more you struggle to set it free the quicker
you choke. Once I come upon you its best
to let it be. There is beauty in surrender—even
the blank-eyed fish embraces resignation in
the net and halts its flailing, locks itself into a stare
that beckons, Dare to love me just like this.
Don’t let my reputation frighten you, I’m
more seduction if you will, I’m less the predator
the gossips make me out to be. My twin initiates
the kill and somehow I’m the villain. What
unbecoming accusation, what travesty.
If you really want to know my story, hear me
out instead of running from me. Come.
Get comfortable. Get closer.
Once upon a time
before I was a scavenger I was a messenger.
Before I was disgraceful I was the fateful
waving of plumes in the air, merciful signal
that warned all living things Beware the beast
has left its lair. Not everyone escaped its path
but plenty did and word passed down
through generations that if by chance one
caught my dance on the horizon surely
there was danger there. Beware! It wasn’t
quite affection but attention pleased me just
the same. My warnings were never called
heroic but I felt rewarded—instant recognition.
Before infamy you could say I was famous.
How I basked in my individuality. My body
seen apart from my brother’s vile identity.
But fate can be so cruel, that’s the rule.
The pride of presence comes with a price to pay.
Consider the royal forest that withers its leaves
when a wave of boorish rust weathers it—
a rotting graveyard ripe for Brother Fire’s
ire. Consider the arrogant elk that locked horns
with a branch. I came upon this most idyllic scene,
which lasted seconds, until my brother cooked
the animal, then stripped the tree and picked
the carcass clean. Nature’s beauty is ephemeral;
I’m a natural thing, as is my twin. Yet memory
clings to aftermath longer than it does
to the calm before upheaval. When man
domesticated Brother Fire to perpetrate his evil
I became guilty by association. I became
party to the rising temperatures, the droughts
and the pollutions. I lost my role as harbinger
with the industrial age and every iron cage
became my prison. A soaring spirit held captive
becomes reactive. If I asphyxiate and suffocate
you it’s because I reciprocate the deed. See?
I’m simply an entity misunderstood. I only do
what you do to me. Since I’m no longer free,
the cloud of me becomes the shroud of you.
Rigoberto González is the author of 18 books of poetry and prose. His awards include Guggenheim, NEA, USA Rolón fellowships, the Before Columbus American Book Award, the Lambda Literary Award, and the Lenore Marshall Prize from the Academy of American Poets. He sits on the board of trustees of the Association of Writers and Writing Programs (AWP) and is currently professor of English at Rutgers-Newark, the State University of New Jersey.
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