Zombie Fires Burn Both Ways
I was writing another piece about the loss of my wife when I learned about fires that smolder underground in the dead of winter in western Canada. Some believe zombie fires are simply remnants of surface fires that never died. With climate change bringing less snow, they say, such fires are closer to the surface. In spring, if the surrounding land still bears life, flames can be rekindled and carried by the wind to do further damage. Others argue that climate change is causing surface temperatures to heat, inciting peat soils to catch fire without a spark. I only know that smoke rising from the earth mixes with snow falling from the sky, passing through the chassis of four-by-fours to make the eyes water.
On the dating site, I wrote this widow that zombie fires sound like grief, how it lingers in all seasons under the skin, ready to reignite all the suffering we try to bury, to stir tear ducts we thought finally dry. But she wrote that maybe zombie fires are survivors, pushing against their dark crypts for resurrection. When they escape from their graves, eyes blinking against the unaccustomed sun, they stumble blindly, arms outstretched, looking for someone to hold.
Mark Foss is the author of three novels, including Borrowed Memories (2024), as well as a collection of linked stories. His CNF has appeared in Canadian, American and British journals, including three previous issues of *82 Review. He is also the co-editor of The Book of Judith (2022), an homage to the poet, writer and teaching artist Judith Tannenbaum and her impact on marginalized and incarcerated students. He lives in Montréal. He writes from Montréal, but you can visit at www.markfoss.ca
You can see more of Mark's work in 11.1 and 10.2 and 10.3