Hurricane

I’m going to move the earth she said.
Watch me. All I need is a plank long enough,
come on, help me look.
We searched,
through libraries of glass cases and piles of forgotten articles
– yellowed type on ancient paper –
and in the pattern on a butterfly’s wings.
And the colour that seeps from street lamps
through rain splashed windows on bitter nights –
halos over skeletal beacons.
She found the answer on her own,
I never grasped its clues;
except that it hovered in the shadows of her irises,
the freckles on her stomach,
the way she pronounced her name.
She stood under the moon in a hurricane,
and moved the earth, just like she said she would.

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About abigailbaross

Writer and aspiring publisher
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One Response to Hurricane

  1. dtdeedge says:

    my title would be,
    “mother”
    for indeed,
    the light in my daughters’ eyes,
    sparked and fanned through their mother,
    will burn this world bare,
    and shift its course anew.

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