Two Poems – Jade Cruz Quinn

Who Brought the Storm

shrubs become tumbleweeds
I swerve to avoid
the drought is over
El Niño fixed us in one season

it flooded
crawfish spilled down

the mountain
ready for a fight

a tide carried her away
the girl inside me died
I still can’t get around

to burying her

there are ashes on the mantle:
cigarettes, palo santo, a corpse

two words faded
from her wrist
scribbled over scars

I arose with

my heart and stomach filled

to the brim in fear

of waking
the new day,
a chemical purple

the haze that lingers
around every step and

pull closer

to the next dusk




Gaze                 into puddle dimension

In&out(doors) blurs dreams of submergence

Matter encased

where damp wings

cannot fly without waterproof coat


There, I am handicapped

I have mere lungs

No chlorophyll nor flippers

nor subterranean jet propulsion



from accessing

inner space, boundless

beyond reach


We twist unconscious



Drum beats drive

Liquid reverberates

fluid to surroundings

The Way adapts

adopts all it in its path



Become it

cannot waver

just ride the underbellies

grow scales on all sides

Undertow won’t let go




In some worlds

elements don’t exist


Earth is a utopia imagined

where exoskeletons peel away

revealing soft, porous skin


We walk in tundra