Maggie Lily

Nature's Wrath

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Nature’s Wrath

Oh my God, my soul!

That’s it.

Just a young-yeared brown girl

banging her pelvis against a white window ledge

at the sight of an approaching storm

that pays her many minds with all his eyes.

She don’t know,

this is going to be her whole life.

I shriek.

I always shriek.

The welling of electrical charge,

the spine a lightning rod

pure silver and cervix

the most conductive.

 

A too-skinny fawn panting

for water, a temptation

to drink the milkweed sap

its drool made only

for the monarchs.

But,

I am not a delicate thing.

If a blossom, I’m the kind you

rub against your mouth,

your eyelids

then you burst in

jiggling blisters.

 

Are you hearing this?

The main bolt will go back up into the cloud,

will heat the air,

become the sound we hear,

turn me on.

This deep that calls unto deep

this yelling, always yelling

makes fissures in the riverbed

I’ll eat all the fishies.

 

I’ll save them all

like I’m saving myself for a marriage

to someone who will let me sleep

in their long hair

or for a word that isn’t about human

suffering, but my hair

is too coarse to braid with the thunder’s

I’ll scrape his cheek,

I’ll scrape all your cheeks!

 

I overheard the mothers complaining

to their pastors that I touched their sons

too much.

They wouldn’t let me in the room

to talk about my own brewing

my own gathering winds

my own exposure of leaf underbelly.

The drips that splattered their daughters

they liked it so much.

So I stepped out of the window

and became a sweet, fleshy hurricane.

No more to embarrass my mother

be tamed.

 

Oh my God, I’m hungry!

I only have this one more moment of youth,

of an excuse for squabbling with my extending

bones. I am already root.

I am already turnip.

I cannot protect this cream alone

and I won’t.

I will surface and purple and know

they will try to consume me.

But

they can’t.

 

The way purblind is a half-truth

I am the half-breed comprised

of what you can’t see and what you know

to be good.

 

If you define what’s good by how it feels

then I must be good,

so, so, good.

I look around and no one is guarding

my body, this trickle of lava

licking up everything in my path.

No one can stop my shriek.

I always shriek

like a hungry little animal.