Am I Rebellion?
By Blake Nuto
Published 29 April 2025
When the flames tore through
there were shattered china plates
and fine blown glass in the soil.
And wild things cut their paws.
And their bleed became part of the ground.
And their bodies became part of the ground.
And the green ants trailed, feasting.
And it swallowed the tussocks of saw sedge.
And it turned the bracken fern to a soft grey nothing.
And it bowed the proud heads of the fescue and spinifex.
And by morning the cracked throats of the eucalypts burned with black — spat cinders.
And their aching limbs that grew slow and sure dreamed of dying.
And the delicate spider weaving its silky web all dewed, was gone.
And the lone furred thing had no growth to hide.
And all the busy, blood-lit life was lost to the tall forest of the mind.
And I said, ‘Sometimes I burn like that. Am I rebellion?’
And you said, ‘You’re one with the world.’
When I asked the firefighter where the animals would go during the burn off, he said, ‘They’ll just run off.’
This poem is, firstly, a reflection on fire and human interaction with the understorey.
Fire reveals that the soil was previously used as a dumping ground. Stately, fragile items are discarded, strewn through the earth. As animals flee the flames their paws are cut. Some escape, only leaving their blood trails behind, others are not quick enough. The ants benefit.
After the fire the land is barren. Precious, barely noticed things are gone to memory. And not only did some animals not escape, there is nothing for the others to return to. Even a controlled fire is unforgiving. Not truly controlled. Fire rebels.
My first draft had a different ending. Fire can be regenerative. The earth is regenerative. Months later, native grasses flourished. Years later, the animals returned.
Instead we go further into the human/nature relationship. We see the fire in ourselves. ‘Is that bad? Do I need to tame it?’
A second voice responds. You aren’t separate from the natural world.
There’s space to make your own conclusions.
