Storm Is Misunderstood
after Emma Bolden
Storm steals like a simile. Storm seeks but does not find.
Storm will not remind you to ingest promises or pills.
Storm is not a cotton-ball cloud & glitter-glue lightning
on a black-paper bed. Look, Storm’s clouds scatter—
play duck, luck, noose. They shout & shiver.
Storm mouths oceans, swishes them between its teeth,
spits them sideways. Listen, you’ll hear the trees slurping,
savoring Storm's saliva. Storm is holy, hungry,
& slippery. Feel this, its hair contains whispers
brushed with dust, encrusted with tulle.
Storm is not angry in the sky. It does not house
raging gods, bowling giants, stomping elephants.
Storm exists in the sky & when sun burns
the clouds away, Storm is never the one screaming.
Storm Explores Its Origins
Unstable atmosphere—cold, hot,
hot, cold. Vapors as vespers rising
toward the heavens. Collision,
collection, condensation.
Storm dislikes this story, writes
its own. A father made of fire.
A mother born of stone. A star
to salute its genesis.
Swollen with self-certainty,
with sulfur, with saline,
Storm disregards
your desires. Your longings
lost to gusts of glory. Who have you
loved? How did you lose it all?
Where did you learn to lament?
Storm never wonders, never asks.
Storm Writes A Novel
The protagonist is a parrot named Crackers who escapes from the circus and instead performs his death-defying acts—jumping through rings of fire, swallowing fire, saying “Fire, Fire, Fire!”—for the pedestrians on the streets of New York City. One day, Crackers goes to a movie, a RomCom, a second-chance love story starring Cameron Diaz and Matthew Broderick. Crackers sits in the back row with his self-sized container of popcorn and his girlfriend Banana the canary. Well, Banana dares Crackers to perform his act during the commercials. He hops down from his seat and starts his routine, tiny top hat and all. But when he lights his rings and says “Fire, Fire, Fire,” everyone starts running out of the theater, trampling Crackers to death. In the final chapter, Banana cries in the rain, cries on the roof, cries until she perches on the top of a lightning rod and bursts into flames.
Storm Imagines Alternate Lives
If Storm were a star, it would orbit a gravitational greed at the center of everything. It would burn for a millennium, the brightest bright in the night sky. No photographer, no artist, no composer could capture the magnitude of its magnetism. But Storm wouldn’t mind if they tried. It would burst—supernova, spreading its particles throughout the galaxy to create new planets, to propagate its perfection into the furthest reaches of the inky universe.
If Storm were a rainbow, it would be rich—with all those pots of gold doubloons, all the clover-and-moon shaped marshmallows it could eat, all the little green men to do its bidding. Everyone would grin, not gripe, when Storm displayed its stripes in the sky. And Storm would promise never again to flood the earth. And say it with a smile.
Storm Visits Preschool
Storm huffs & puffs. Storm blows the blocks down.
Storm dissolves the crackers, downs the jam, drinks the juice.
It ruins the storybook with its rain. It does not share the toy train.
Storm dumps finger paints, leaves markers without caps, toys tossed out of crates.
Storm chases & shoves. Storm roars & raves. Storm booms & bangs.
The children, these twelve tots with their sticky fingers & nonstop tongues,
they are not afraid. They grab Storm’s clouds & squeeze them like stuffies.
They leap for lightning bolts. They dance in the downpour. They open their mouths
& fill their stomachs with rain. Storm thinks they’re insane. Out the window,
down the street, Storm leaves in search of somewhere it’ll be feared & esteemed
it hovers in a dive bar, orders a shot, signs up for karaoke, ready to sing
“Rock You Like a Hurricane.” Storm flips its mane.
Storm Arrives at My House
Storm’s cumulus clouds combine into mountains,
gaining strength, deepening in hue. Storm’s breath
whips leaves into a violence. The radio squawks tornado,
but I can’t hear if it’s watch or warning, nor do I know
the difference, just that it’s time to leave everything behind—
even my boots & jacket. I welcome water & wind,
walk toward the soul of Storm until I reach a field of asters.
I lie down, spread my arms, embrace Storm
like a lover I once lost to a gust.