WEBVTT

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"You're going to die.

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Ain't you pop?"

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Vernon asked.

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His father raised
himself straight.

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"Maybe I am.

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I don't know."

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"I'll go with you then."

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"No, son."

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"I've got to."

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His father watched smoke
billow black into the sky,

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and then leaned into Vernon.

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"Listen to me son," he said.

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"I've been thinking on
what to do with you,

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and I want you to
listen close now."

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Vernon wiped his
stinging eyes and tried

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to focus on his father's mouth.

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"Tomorrow," his
father said, "I want

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you to pack your
belongings into a bag,

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and walk yourself into the
town to the Baptist church.

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Go on to pastor Gould
and tell him everything.

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Tell them how I killed
the man, and how

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you had to carry the body
because I was too weak,

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and how I made you
help burn him up.

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Tell them you need help
that you need the Lord.

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They can't turn you away.

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Your fruit has to be
picked or go rotten.

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You go straight son, and
they'll give you a life.

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You'll be a symbol
to them of how

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someone can come out of the
fire and become righteous.

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You'll be a symbol, and
they'll take good care of you

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always because folks need
something to believe in,"

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he said.

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"And I'll be assembled too."

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And then he was quiet,
and draped his good arm

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around Vernon's shoulders.

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His head lolled and
then Vernon was looking

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into his father's gray eyes.

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"This thing we've
done Vernon," he said.

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"It's outside of so much.

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I'm worried about all the
things that'll change,

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but I've been thinking
about all them

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things what can't be touched.

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Ain't a woman in the world more
beautiful than your mother.

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I was thinking about
how much I loved her,

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and how that ain't changed.

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And that got me
thinking about my heart,

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and how when it rains, your
skin and hair gets wet and cold,

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but your heart don't know if
it's raining, or hot, or windy.

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It just keeps on beating."

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He lifted his arm back
from around Vernon.

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"Well, that's how I like
to think of it at least.

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It ain't all clear
in my mind just yet,"

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He motioned towards the
cave entrance, "Go on now.

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Take your mother out tonight and
try and just forget about me."

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In a gesture they often shared
when Vernon was a child,

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his father kissed
his cheek, and Vernon

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touched his father's hair.

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And then rose and
did not look back.

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He was barely conscious
of his movement

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as he wandered up and
up from the tunnels.

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He mindlessly negotiated
the sandstone facade.

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He walked the woods thinking he
should climb back to the cave

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that there was more to be said
that he should stay and help

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his father.

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But the ground passed
quickly beneath him,

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and he did not slow until
wire patching his boot soles

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snagged the grass of
the dense sedge prairie.

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And then Vernon turned to
face what was behind him.

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Above the tree line rose
the smoking sandstone peak.

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And black smoke smeared the sky
like an oily thumb dragged down

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pretty paper.

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In that smoke were brass,
buttons, and blood,

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and Vernon's eyes
burned from smoke.

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His hands and arms were
beaded with black sweat.

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Smoke clung to his hair,
his clothes, his skin.

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He tasted smoke on his teeth.

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Flames fired behind
Vernon's breastbone,

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and coughed, and
spat, and wheezed.

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He became lightheaded.

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He dropped to one knee.

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Sedge swayed in his eyes, and
he could no longer see the peak.

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He saw only smoke hazed sky.

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Sky had been
sullied for so long,

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Vernon couldn't recall
a day without smoke.

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He lay on his back in
the grass, but could not

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quell the heat in his chest.

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When blowing smoke swirled in
the sky above where he'd lay.

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Higher, swirling higher.

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And though he longed to believe
his father, to understand him,

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he knew smoke was not rain, and
it found his way to his heart.

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He watched the sky and
thought of all the fires

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the world has ever seen.

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Fires from wars and
fires from bombs.

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So much smoke.

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Where has it all gone?

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And new smoke curled beneath
whiffs of old smoke drifting

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ever higher, higher.

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Where does it all go?

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And he inhaled deeply,
and his insides burned,

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and Vernon knew all
that smoke was now

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just the air we breathe.

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[APPLAUSE]

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