Issue 16 · 2012




Burning Man


by A. J. Huffman








I’m trying to say that

for hours we set our

little-known female there. 

Enjoying the steaming sunset

together like a honeymoon

-ing couple, I summoned

pants.  Made a fire.  And did

all the things one does

when one is not a story

hideaway (complete

with mirrored veils).  I am

proud to say it: 









I’m not just talking about hours

into the wilderness, just me,

a little-known hot spring.

I got joined by the steaming

water.  Looking out, the sunset

summoned:  “Help me!”

If I had been wearing pants I would have

peed them.  But I survived

my wildlife encounter.  Made a fire.

And did all the things one does

when among the complete.  I am

proud.  It is quite the opposite.








I want to make it before.  Not just

hours into the me.

We set “our” beside.  (A little

au naturel.  Promptly joined by

the looking.) Out sunset!

I summoned a wee voice:

“Help me!”

(I would have.) But I survived

and made fire.


This is not complete.  I am

proud [to say].  Quite

the opposite.










A. J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer.  She is an editor at Kind of a Hurricane Press.