Poem
Maxine Beneba Clarke
Arson
temptress
the redhead
on the matchbox
is all charcoal lash
she wears a do it smile,
like eve’s
to adam
alarm
most arsonists, they say,
are men
some of them like to go back,
and watch:
scarlet flickering
in transfixed eyes
or else they dial,
to raise the alarm
incline
bushfire burns faster
travelling uphill,
than descending,
or on even keel
the spread doubles,
with every ten-degree incline:
flame licks closer
to unburnt fuel
deceleration
slender-fruit saltbush,
and angular pigface
frosted goosefoot
and rounded noon-flower
spotted emu bush,
silver mulga
knife-leaf wattle,
and then, the acacia
oxygen
the wind creeps,
enchanted,
in the footsteps of the fire:
and blows burning leaf litter ahead
the speed of the scorch
makes havoc,
and haste
firefighters: broken,
and bracing
regret
ash-faced:
what have we done
oh, what have we done:
no backburning,
no listening,
no love
we planted bloody tinder
for 200 years
hope
is a rescued koala
arson
the cities are black-sombre,
they labour to breathe,
the people in power
deny
(scarlet flickering,
in their so what gaze)
but where there’s smoke
there’s fire
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