Two Poems – Jade Cruz Quinn

September 7, 2017

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

 

Undertow

 

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

 

Prohibited

from accessing

inner space, boundless

beyond reach

 

We twist unconscious

breaths

 

Drum beats drive

Liquid reverberates

fluid to surroundings

The Way adapts

adopts all it in its path

unyielding

 

Become it

cannot waver

just ride the underbellies

grow scales on all sides

Undertow won’t let go

 

(unsizable)

 

In some worlds

elements don’t exist

 

Earth is a utopia imagined

where exoskeletons peel away

revealing soft, porous skin

 

We walk in tundra