She Speaks Storms into Being

Winner of the 2018 Winter Contest.

I.

I’ll love you the only way a rotten fish could love:
by slipping my rancid silver scales

under your tongue at night, impaling my eyes
and plugging your nostrils with them. Father, I’ll give you

my skull: cracked open, a goblet forcing you to
drink my rot if you sell me to a husband.

II.

I know––you love me enough to sever your ankles
and damn them into hooves. Daughter,

you speak thunder, a queen hunting for a spire––
I will find a worthy man for you; a man

who will eat his mother’s
heart for a taste of yours.

III.

Will I spin myself a gown from brimstone; lace
my fingers through Lilith’s? Become

woman: unsalvageable, apostate
wife left to lurk among the other broken ribs?

IV.

Please––let a husband draw
the lightening from your breath before

it turns to hellfire. Could you imagine
yourself unharvested? A passion

left to storm this countryside?

V.

Yes––SHE HANGS HER HEAD ABOVE FOREST FIRES;
THICKENS HER MUCUS WITH ASH––

Yes––SHE CRACKLES, PINE FLESH BURSTING INTO
WILD LUPINE, ASPHODEL––

Yes––THE LAND REAWAKENS IN HER TEMPEST;
SHE ROAMS THE CINDERS, STEAMING––