Four Seconds of Silence
or
A Manual for Spontaneous Combustion
by Grace E. Ludlow
Author's Note: This piece was inspired by Lucia's life- beginning, middle, and end, and was incited by an episode of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations where he ventured into a Montana mine, much like those that Lucia's father worked for during her youth. I was struck by the tension in those four seconds of silence between first ignition and the explosion that followed, and thought it a good image to run with. I was also inspired by Lucia's own observation of the chemotherapy she endured at the end of her life, that it 'ground her bones to dust'. I titled the piece 'Four Seconds of Silence, or A Manual for Spontaneous Combustion' to work off of the recurring theme of fire throughout, which I found appropriate considering Lucia's fiery personality and writing.
Papa told me that down in the belly of Colorado
after the ammonium nitrate is primed
from the moment of ignition
to detonation
there are four seconds of silence.
There’s the gin-quick fizz
once the handle clicks into place
but it takes four seconds
before hellfire shakes the mountains,
turning ageless stones to dust.
In phantom fingers across my skin
(a long-forgotten lover)
the gin burns
an invisible blue, like the sky
or the glisten of an empty glass.
On the television in the purgatory-waiting room
there’s a man--
a monk in penitent orange
like a convict
bathed in kerosene dreams of nirvana.
I change the channel
before my sons’ sons can see the flames.
The doctors say that the chemicals they prescribe
will silence the devils in my chest.
My penance burns like ammonium nitrate
and grinds my bones to dust.
The needle pinches every time a smiling,
sleepless nurse rolls my old veins into place.
She primes the line with saline
before emptying the syringe.
It is a cold rush and I count
four seconds of silence
before the burn.
Grace E. Ludlow is a conservator of memory currently based in the Pacific Northwest. She writes in a variety of genres and styles with a focus on queer and neurodivergent stories about the exceptional ordinary. She has had short fiction and poetry published in anthologies by Cowboy Jamboree and Inked in Grey presses. She can be found on Bluesky as @grace-e-ludlow.
or
A Manual for Spontaneous Combustion
by Grace E. Ludlow
Author's Note: This piece was inspired by Lucia's life- beginning, middle, and end, and was incited by an episode of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations where he ventured into a Montana mine, much like those that Lucia's father worked for during her youth. I was struck by the tension in those four seconds of silence between first ignition and the explosion that followed, and thought it a good image to run with. I was also inspired by Lucia's own observation of the chemotherapy she endured at the end of her life, that it 'ground her bones to dust'. I titled the piece 'Four Seconds of Silence, or A Manual for Spontaneous Combustion' to work off of the recurring theme of fire throughout, which I found appropriate considering Lucia's fiery personality and writing.
Papa told me that down in the belly of Colorado
after the ammonium nitrate is primed
from the moment of ignition
to detonation
there are four seconds of silence.
There’s the gin-quick fizz
once the handle clicks into place
but it takes four seconds
before hellfire shakes the mountains,
turning ageless stones to dust.
In phantom fingers across my skin
(a long-forgotten lover)
the gin burns
an invisible blue, like the sky
or the glisten of an empty glass.
On the television in the purgatory-waiting room
there’s a man--
a monk in penitent orange
like a convict
bathed in kerosene dreams of nirvana.
I change the channel
before my sons’ sons can see the flames.
The doctors say that the chemicals they prescribe
will silence the devils in my chest.
My penance burns like ammonium nitrate
and grinds my bones to dust.
The needle pinches every time a smiling,
sleepless nurse rolls my old veins into place.
She primes the line with saline
before emptying the syringe.
It is a cold rush and I count
four seconds of silence
before the burn.
Grace E. Ludlow is a conservator of memory currently based in the Pacific Northwest. She writes in a variety of genres and styles with a focus on queer and neurodivergent stories about the exceptional ordinary. She has had short fiction and poetry published in anthologies by Cowboy Jamboree and Inked in Grey presses. She can be found on Bluesky as @grace-e-ludlow.