The Burning Girl

While the tennis ball went back and forth in time A girl was burning. While the tonic took its greeny Acid lime, a girl was burning. While the ruby sun fell From a cloud’s bent claws and Wimbledon was won And lost, we sprawled along the shore in chairs, We breathed the azure airs alongside A girl with the thinnest arms all scarred and scored With marks she’d made herself — She sat with us in flames That not all saw or saw but couldn’t say at risk Of seeming impolite. And later we’d all think Of the monk who’d doused himself with gas, Lit a match, then sat unmoving and alert amid Devouring light. She didn’t speak. She touched No aspect of our silly selves. I was the awkward guest everybody hardly knew. She was an almost ghost her mother saw Erasing the edges of herself each day Smudging the lines like charcoal while her parents Redrew her secretly into being over and Again each night and dawn and sleepless All years long. Having seen that mother’s love, I testify: It was ocean endless. One drop could’ve Brought to life the deadest Christ, and she Emptied herself into that blazing child with all her might And stared a hundred million miles into The girl’s slender, dwindling shape. Her father was the devoted king of helicopter pad And putting green. His baby burned as we All watched in disbelief. I was the facile friend of friends insisting on a hug Who hadn’t been along for years of doctors, wards, And protocols. I forced her sadness close. I said C’mon let’s hug it out. Her arms were white Birch twigs that scissored stiffly at my neck till she Slid on. That night we watched Some fireworks on the dewy lawn for it was Independence Day. Soon after, she was gone. She was the flaming tower we all dared To jump from. So she burned.