“Short Essay Ending in Simko”

by Adam D. Weeks

In the American mid-west, we wonder what the wildfires have left us, what’s left to be

taken from the trees. So much of us is burning, so much of us is burnt.

Let me rephrase: In the American mid-west, almost all wildfires are man-made.

In an Anthropocene Magazine title, we’ve specified that humans cause almost all

wildfires that threaten American homes. We’ve rephrased the language of this world,

reworked the weather, made thunder where there wasn’t before.

For years we’d spend the night together and let the fire burn, but then we turned

so bright and hot, then into not at all what we said we’d be—we told it to be big,

to be out by ten and then expected it to listen. We’re always misunderstanding

or misunderstood, flicking our cigarettes, forgetting our campfires, explaining

ourselves in any way we can. So much of us is meant to be remade and still

we step on ourselves, stomp ourselves out. We prescribe, describe the best ways

we can respond when we could stay silent. I’ve only ever seen a thing on fire

that wasn’t supposed to be once—a building, flames blowing out the window,

sirens shouting into the night, the sky dark like cast iron.

I am almost always turning into that smoke.