The Next Storm
You were a tornado
and I was the village in the path.
You brought down trees,
the house I grew up in,
but you left me standing.
In the weeks after you swept in
and leveled everything in your path
I tried to reset.
I took hammers and nails,
placed them into beams that promised me they were sturdy.
I built until my hands bled
until my heart shed what was left of you.
I spent so much time with my hands in the dirt
I forgot to watch the sky for the next storm.
The Tragedy of Hope
You taste like sunlight,
The first wave that capsizes in the ocean,
Tree bark in the spring,
Seeped in sap,
You taste like the will to get out of bed,
The light that cut through clouds
Like knives on skin.
You taste like how good stories begin.