by Crystal Stone
There are yellow skies and no
storm sirens. The hail bursts
large enough to break my window
and I think about letting nature in,
to clean my carpet. The thunder is
a heartbeat, mine. My eyes June
with longer days. They warm
and lengthen. The prairie grasses
outside look blue because my eyes
want them to water beaches
instead of streets. I want my bed
to boat my body on the coast I miss.
My hair is spring, blooms flyaways.
I’ve lost so much. Many poems, always
listening to others. They tornado my mind
empty of my words. I don’t want
to sound like the men I’ve talked to.
Only the women. Only the earth.
Only the grasses, wind, hail and sky.