The Weather

Did my tornado come in the night? The siren signaling spiraling danger. Like shots at a wedding of Polish liquor. A highly selective tornado, transforming my coworker but not her kids. My ex, but not their current wife. The witch, but please spare Toto. Taking those that humiliated but leaving those that believed, my own pagan version of the Rapture. I  believe in mercy as much as anyone else. But on the nights when I feel defeated or alone I patiently wait. The storm, sucking up everyone in its glorious funnel.

The Midwest

Religious oppression combined with the toxic waste from the old factories next to a body of water. It is time for you to finally be Put in Your Place, they crush you at the root. Affected disinterest results in an offering of the firstborn. The passive aggressive pallor hangs in the air, like ghost smog lingering from a closed tannery. Those who claim you should have just asked-after all, they aren’t a mind reader.

Ugly Women

I speak with an economy of words. The timer is always running out. There is no glorious vision for the listener to gaze upon. Was told being smart would make up for it. Imagine my surprise when I wasn’t that smart. In adolescence it was the boys who were terrible. In adulthood men mercifully have gifted me with invisibility. I could rob a bank and walk out with the bag if it weren’t for the tellers. They are all angry straight women who had beautiful mothers.

Skin Color

I grew up in a world where nothing but my skin was mine, and I didn’t know it. A skin that was translucent. Every bump every bruise a map of misadventures. Every scrape every scar was evidence. A record of something that didn’t go according to plan. Bike accidents, a permanent callus on my shoulder. The injuries of a snitch because I longed for power. Everyone looked like me, and we looked like each other. A distribution system presented as fact was fiction. Familiarity was breeding more than contempt.

Fear

There is no one explanation why I am so afraid. Of course, there is Death, except for those that claim to welcome it like an old friend. But what is really thought of old friends who show up after a lifetime of absence. Do they need money? Are they hiding from the law? Are you their last chance? It makes no sense. Death, my old friend: What exactly do you want?

Class

A white girl, in the United States, who has never eaten meat.

Money

See: Alice Notley

Beliefs

Looking both ways before crossing the street.

The Northern Lights appearing unexpectedly.

A great-grandmother, smiling at ghosts.

Religion

When I traced the bark with my fingers in silence.

When I dreamt you were back, as if nothing had happened.

When I tore the suffering deer apart
with my own hands.