Freak Storms




Freak Storms

i’m in the shower
thinking about
a newly dead friend
when a picture i have
hanging on my bathroom wall
is supernaturally ripped
from its hook

it takes the contents
of my countertop with it,
a glass shattering sound,
but all shards are spared,
nothing breaks
other than the connection
we had on this earthly plane
severed by        your own hand,
but is that speculation?
a rumor?

my cousin told me to hang on once,
she did, she did, she did,
until she couldn’t           this
may be another memory they’ll
tell me didn’t happen, this may be
because i heard her sister’s voice
this morning & couldn’t stop
wondering how many times a day
she thinks of that pink streak
in her hair       of that one
painted pinky nail

there are brittle
cicada shells beneath
our feet, i’m in them,
i’m a shade, an exoskeleton

             i miss you so much
i’m grinding your name
    in my teeth when i sleep

what are you doing in the inferno?
are you dancing together?
see, the thing about Ballerina
is that she always believed
& i’m having trouble
holding on to anything

i don’t know if i believe
in anything

but if there be ghosts surrounding me,
let them be you        let them
disembody my howling, let them
break something tangible next time,
let them slip out the back door
behind me while i’m waiting
for my turn to be called away

let me tell dissection stories
as a way of seeking truth,
let me love an absent man,
let me feel you, your cold
hands, the satin of your
slipper, the brush of the ribbon
that held your broken parts
in place for awhile

it’s humid outside too,
hard to breathe in    like
your absence is         hard
to be patient when there
are no concrete answers

your boot thumps in the sky,
it’s only thunder, it’s only
every rain-soaked memory
striking my heart at once
like lightning

i’m not going to be angry

now is a good enough time
as any
to dip out too soon


Published by Jennifer Patino

Poet.

8 thoughts on “Freak Storms

  1. I love the polyphonic debris in this. To survive definitely feels like moving through and over a complex detritus of loss, all senses heightened but especially sound; everything in this poem is perfectly brittle.

    Liked by 2 people

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