heat/changes/everything
S.L. Holm
I
admiring your surety
when you’re dead you’re dead
i never questioned your choice of burning over burial
that neat formula of pragmatism + heat
removing you from the spiritual mundane
keeping you, a scientist, dead proof
of chemical kinetics in extremis
that irreparable change of matter
yet, my thoughts of late dwell on process
how incinerating energy transfers to epidermis
how intense heat penetrates brain cells
rendering their synaptic impulse to sap
then on to blacken heart cells
halting the impetus of unknowable love
all this one-way slack and dissolve of sinew
this flesh giving way under fire
withering, curling, till pale smoke settles
resolved to 22 identifiable elements
II
i try to bring words to what happens
when heat [Q=mc ΔT ] is added to this mix
but am left with just the plain residue of loss
lone percentages of chemicals and metals
(yes, you knew where the poetry was in those)
and burning questions like
where you went when you went
when the sun restless rose and bled dawn
through your hospice window
and while these percentages
add up to some whole
they ≠ you
III
toxicity of remains are of concern, i consult learned minds:
one question is do these remains include teeth, fabric, or jewelry?
i replay too many times the opening of the door
the sharpshove of you into the blasted heat
and ask why not the slow decay of decomposition
–fluid and matter making its way to earth’s center
in blessed renewal–or another rite, perhaps
embalmed and buried like a norse king
robed in tattered spunsilver, wedding ring intact
found some thousand years later
yellow teeth cinched in your famous rictus grin
hands folded over your inscrutable stopped heart
i could have laid my head upon your breast and wept, then
instead, in a combustible casket, mouth agape
the silver amalgams of cheap dental work
release their poisons in the 1000° heat
stripped of wedding ring and glasses
your hospital-issue gown, a paper cape
catching fire round your shoulders
why, i ask, this radical reduction of you as matter?
why break chemical bonds keeping you as you?
leg bones bound in winding sheets of entropic muscles
your palsied reach of arms when i said my last goodbye
now tiny trace elements pulverized to ash and air
experts say: you would not dump a ton of it in the river
but otherwise, it would not be a concern
IV
months from now when i take your ashes to water
downriver to the sea where your last coherent words
am i going to falmouth? am i going home?
speak the poetry of a circular return
i will scatter you in nantucket sound
not calculating the percentage of what made you matter
but trusting the alchemy of the atlantic’s shifting gyres
to add your energy, now elemental, to the planetary fire
you, the lowering skies
you, the waves beating, beating starboard
Phosphate 47.5%
Calcium 25.3%
Sulfate (Sulphate) 11.00%
Potassium 3.69%
Sodium 1.12%
Chloride 1.00%
Silica 0.9%
Aluminum Oxide 0.72%
Magnesium 0.418%
Iron Oxide 0.118%
Zinc 0.0342%
Titanium Oxide 0.0260%
Barium 0.0066%
Antimony 0.0035%
Chromium 0.0018%
Copper 0.0017%
Manganese 0.0013%
Lead 0.0008%
Tin 0.0005%
Vanadium 0.0002%
Beryllium <0.0001%
Mercury <0.00001%
The Science
In my poetic approach to the process of cremation I began to research the chemical reactions induced by the use of extreme heat and became intrigued by a discussion of the toxicity of cremation ash and the percentages of the residue elements that the body breaks down to–this is the list the reader sees on the right hand side of the poem. Considering what it means to be literally reduced to these elements from a scientific, environmental, as well as bodily, point of view, the poem also reflects how the process of cremation affects the bereaved ‘i’ of the poem. This prompts, alongside the material, quantifiable effects of the release of energy in cremation, a contemplation of what happens to the ‘energy’ of the living person after death/cremation.
The Poet
Born in Massachusetts, S.L. Holm came to the UK at nineteen to study acting, working first as a professional actor, then attending university as a mature student to gain a Ph.D. in literature. Now living in York, she is currently in her second year on the Creative Writing (Poetry) MFA at York St. John University.
Next poem: I see turbines in the distance by Kinneson Lalor