A List of Small Wonders Pt 2

Found Poetry

On the first day of the year, Mr. Chandler came into my eighth grade English class in a pair of large green corduroy pants and mismatched socks. He always wore mismatched socks for luck.

“I ride the bike to school every day, no matter the weather,” he said proudly. “But today was different. My bike chain was making a clicking noise in this exact rhythm: TSS-tss-tss-tss-tss-tss- TSS-tss-tss-tss-tss-tss.” He created the clicking sound by smacking his tongue against his teeth.

“Suddenly, I was thrust into the past and reminded of something, but I wasn’t sure what. Halfway to school, I realized what it was–I was hearing a line from “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe. ‘I was a child and she was a child…’ I said the line to myself over and over and over the whole way there. ‘I was a child and she was a child and I was a child and she was a child…” I was enthralled by his story.

Yesterday, I found myself walking through campus in lovely weather, in a long skirt that fluttered around my ankles. Suddenly, I heard a rhythm I could not identify even with my knowledge of music theory. My mouth opened ajar to form a word not yet born. I paused to take a breath and the words spilled out of me before I could anticipate them: “anyone lived in a pretty how town / (with up so floating many bells down).” It was the spirit of e.e. cummings on a spring day. I repeated the line the whole way to class.

“anyone lived in a pretty how town / (with up so floating many bells down)/ anyone lived in a pretty how town / (with up so floating many bells down).”

Today I am thinking of your found poetry, Mr. Chandler. I hope to find more along the way.

A List of Small Wonders pt. 1

Ode to Mochi

O’ mochi, my favorite food. I love your endless squish and the way you fit into the palm of my hand. I sink my teeth into your body, feeling the slightest resistance. You make me feel like a carnivore who has caught a rabbit and will now eat its heart. I could eat you in one large bite but I choose to savor you chew by chew. O’ tiny organ, you are sweet and powdered with white. You bleed red bean into my mouth, or green tea, or black sesame. When my parents took my sister and I to Japan, we saw you born on the streets of Tokyo in giant barrels. You are created in a Big Bang–the smack and pound of a giant, long hammer called a kine. Two strong men pound the rice dough over and over, flip it, pound more and more, and knead it until it is fluffy. One man pounds, the other kneads, and they get faster and faster. It is a partnership of intense trust. Then, you are shaped into little flat balls filled with any flavoring you could imagine, and transported directly into my mouth. Chomp!

immolation imitation

Milan, 1470. The jolly Polonus Vorstius leans back in his chair and takes a swig of his red wine; he guffaws and shakes his fist at his fellow knights over the pub table. Tilting his head back, he prepares to unleash a belch intended to achieve the applause of his drunken brethren. He opens his mouth, feeling a large bubble travel up his esophagus. He realizes that the bubble is a little bit too hot in his throat, but it is too late! All of a sudden he is breathing fire! A glorious plume of flame erupts from his mouth and swathes his whole body. The men begin to shout but no one can save him. The dragon Polonus has fallen victim to his own power and now he is a charred black lump. This is the first recorded instance of spontaneous human combustion.

Galway, 2010. 76 year-old Michael Faherty reclines on the couch in front of the fireplace with his eyes closed, enjoying the endless leisure of retirement. Maureen should be home from the bakery soon and he cannot wait to give her a kiss. The crackling fire licks the wood in a languid, slow caress. He feels a glow in his torso, attributing the lovely feeling to the whiskey and enjoying its spread to his arms and legs. However, the glow grows brighter and brighter and suddenly he has come alight! A secret ember has started a brushfire in the hairs on his chest! When Maureen gets home with the bread Michael is nothing but a mottled slab, surrounded by a perfectly intact house. This is the last recorded instance of spontaneous human combustion.

For a body to independently combust, it must be brought internally to the ignition temperature and exposed to enough oxygen to raise a flame. Scientists say the chances of this happening are slim to none. However, I am an expert in destruction and recreation and I know better. Everyone has spontaneously combusted at least once, and we do it again and again. Sometimes when people combust, their head and torso are turned to a fluffy pile of ash, leaving their legs to stick out in a sort of gray ostrich-body. They walk around on their intact legs, which support a large cloud of gray dust with a ganglion of glowing embers. Mayakovsky’s “Cloud in Trousers.” It is a known fact that the first person to ever masturbate was left a smoking heap of cinders. It is a fact that the first person to drink lemonade exploded into yellow sparks. It is a fact that Prometheus was so excited he exploded as soon as he saw his creation.

Here are some times when people have become kindling[1]. Ellie burst into flames when she was told that I was in the hospital. Diana conflagrated on live television when she won an Emmy. Travis was ignited by the first strum of a custom Martin D28 guitar. Anna was enveloped in licks of fire after she ate magic mushrooms. Talia was consumed when they realized how much the world would cost. Abby became a patch of scorched earth when she found out a lover was lying to her. Julia was set ablaze when she found out she wasn’t loved at all.

The first time I burned whole was when I found out I could not fly. As I jumped over the stairs, the hot glow of fire emanated from my child-body and set my eyelashes alight. By the time I landed, I was a pile of gray dust. The last time I combusted was last weekend, when I was kissed right on the corner of my left eye. Every part of me was brought to a rolling boil.

We cannot help ourselves but to burn and burn and burn. Then we sprout from the ash, limb by limb, regenerating. Many scientists do not believe spontaneous human combustion exists, but I know better. I am a phoenix. So are you.

[1] Names have been changed for privacy.