Burned Out

A poem

~after Adrienne Rich

Time takes hold of us like an updraft, feeding a storm’s anvil

flashing white with hammer strikes,

cloud a giant Man-o-war crackling lightning beneath translucent skin. These days drag their fingers

through my cheeks like a chalkboard. So slowly I am hollowed out, mined for resources.

This flesh, an eggshell, to move is to fracture fault lines, to chip and flake like old paint

on a porch swing. I bite my nails, I wait for the scent of burnt ozone, the raised hairs

bristling with static and nervous chill, the oxidized nuance of rain, coaxing me back into bed.

I feed the sky smoke, I am the charred trunk of the tree of Life.