Hurricane

Say this storm will bring down a tree—
five hundred pounds of integrity…
Say that you are the space between my teeth,
obsolete only when I breathe.
Now, smirking, exasperation ceases,
a life of only smiling leads to
a face that’s full of creases.
I am working to achieve a standard
on which I could thrive,
for my body to be dead
but my mind to stay alive.

Speaking

Anatomically speaking
the space between my lungs
is no larger nor no wider
than another anyone

Realistically speaking
my heart beats
thirty-one times per second

and I learned that from experience,
not just merely guessing

Hypothetically speaking
I have been in love with everybody twice
And I still haven’t found a lover
who is worth half the price.

To Rattle the Bones

To rattle the bones. Am I a bird?
My frame shattered by inadvertence.
I could brush it off or lie to die. I am a bird…
Flock or not, so singular.
Fleeting, and yet I am bruised.
The shell to house my thoughts…
Demolished by ignorance,
unrestraint and self-indulgence.
So, I feast.
I seek nourishment in pity and pain…
I see relevance from what I earn or gain.
The fruit of many trees has poisoned me.
Only it may have been less accidental.
To rattle the bones. I’m a feline.
I’m owned by many or by none…
I am cunning and strong and do not bask in luxuries.
I watched as inadvertence took my prey. So I feast.
To rattle the bones.

Originally published in the 2013 FACETS at the Butler County Community College.