Ryan Clark
Firefighters' 1927 Nightlight Shows No Sign of Burnout
For the Mangum light bulb, burning since 1927
The years of burning in Mangum—
shining even and low as a drop
of lava leaking from the wall—
screwed into a socket and
grew a tongue we bring out
for a story. It tells us to burn
as a fire held without movement.
It tells us even the years
can forget you still exist.
A young wattage is undone,
and we move to cup it
with our hands
before it is waste we know
to twist away from. But this
is a story of steadiness
that movement disconnects.
It is a status we use
as a nightlight, as we
are afraid of a thing cut down,
and the Mangum bulb is a life
hanging on to its station,
is a scripture for a vanishing
field of towns.
A story is a version of belief
we bear steadily into
unlit corridors, to say:
this is a durable life,
we are a still-burning wire.
Ryan Clark is obsessed with puns and writes his poems using a unique method of homophonic translation. He is the author of How I Pitched the First Curve (Lit Fest Press, 2019), and his poetry has appeared in or is forthcoming in Yemasse, Painted Bride Quarterly, Tahoma Literary Review, Flock and Posit. He is a winner of the 2018 San Antonio Writers Guild contest, and his work has been nominated for Best of the Net. He currently teaches creative writing at Waldorf University in Iowa.