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