John contributed 5 poems to the anthology “Poems from County Clare and Far Beyond.” Below, “Smoke Inhalation” is one of those poems. You can read/hear more of John’s poems here.
Smoke Inhalation
I died when I was 20 years old.
I fell asleep drunk on a mattress
In my minimalist undergraduate bedroom,
Smoking a cigarette,
And the bed caught fire.
The mattress smoldered,
Slowly at first.
Eventually the burn
Migrated to my pants,
And my pants began to char
The sparks then
Wandered further,
And finally touched my leg.
As my flesh began to cook
I woke up.
The room was filled with smoke.
The mattress was casually searing.
There was no flame.
Just a room filled with smoke.
I died that day, of asphyxiation.
At the autopsy, they deemed the cause of death
To be smoke inhalation.
Since then,
I have lived a ghost life.
I’m not really here.
I walk the streets.
I sit in cafes.
Occasionally I talk to a person.
Who may, or may not,
Hear me.
Mine is a populous world,
This world of the dead.
Occasionally we acknowledge each other,
But often not.
Ours is a world of waiting
And walking
And accommodating.
Not a bad world.
Feelings are replaced,
By breath
And breezes.
You will be joining us here soon,
In the ghost world.
In fact, it’s where you will spend
Most of your time,
Except for this momentary spark
You now think of
As your existence.
When you arrive,
You need not say hello.
Newcomers sometimes do,
But after a while they refrain.
I had a cigarette,
Fell asleep,
And got here early.
Your story, likely,
Will be different.
Remember to breathe.
When you breathe,
You turn yourself inside out,
Changing your experience
And your environment.
Remember to breathe.
Coda
Since then,
Since I died in that fire,
I have lived a ghost life.
I’m not really here.
I walk in the streets.
I sit in cafes.
Some people see me.
Some people don’t.
Occasionally I talk to someone.
She may, or may not, hear me.
**
And you, too,
Like the heat,
Or the rain,
You may,
Or may not,
Hear me.
