What happens when a plant breathes
smoke?1
Nicelle Davis | Poetry
As napalm was falling from my grandfather’s plane, my aunt
was lighting my mom on fire in New Mexico. My grandmother’s
hands, scarred instructions on how to put a baby out. My brother
used to burn lighter fluid off his palms to entertain neighbors.
A flame’s always seeking attention. My fire makes a wick of every-
thing. When gods gave it to us, they must have known we’d burn
the world down. A burn is deceptive, if it’s a good one (and by good,
I mean bad). Funny how candles change a room—how a first kiss
is rarely the last—how fire looks like a river when it pours into a house.
Nicelle Davis is a California poet, collaborator, and performance artist. Her poetry collections include The Walled Wife (Red Hen Press, 2016), In the Circus of You (Rose Metal Press, 2015), Becoming Judas (Red Hen Press, 2013), and Circe (Lowbrow Press, 2011). The Language of Fractions was recently released from Moon Tide Press. Her poetry film collaborations with Cheryl Gross have been shown across the world.