by Ingrid Bruck
Cloud Dragon, you wake devils and bring doom.
“Rita Hayworth was taped to the bomb that fell on Hiroshima.”
Big Boy never asked, “Wanna be a destroyer?”
“Rita Hayworth was taped to the bomb that fell on Hiroshima.”
Big Boy never asked, “Wanna be a destroyer?”
No, it’s, “Pretty Lady, come ride with me.”
In the name of woman – I call you Monster.
Fury poisons atoms, even water rebels.
Ocean Shaker lifts a tsunami.
Sky Thrasher hurls torrents of rain and floods.
Strangler traps a catch in a riptide.
Ice Heart churns snow to an avalanche.
Desiccator sips rivers, lakes and streams to desert.
Fire Breath charges inland on waves.
Cloud-Lady shape-shifts and rides.
A stallion kicks a mare in the side,
his hooves pound and drum her ribs,
beat flesh like a drum skin.
She cringes at each hollow blow,
follows each crash and boom.
Sorrow sings in drumbeat and flute,
chant and cheramie echo,
rumble shakes the air,
vibration courses in raindrops
rivulets stream down her cheeks.
She-Dragon blesses each day's gratitudes.
Griefs, she limits hers to three:
one for each story-doll under her pillow,
they work out problems at night.
Heavy sand lifts on gusts,
sharp edges shave off,
harsh notes sand down, recombine & sweeten.
Witch. Bitch. Slut.
Life Force. Life Taker. Baby Maker.
She forgives what she can’t control
but shears Solomon’s hair.
Rita Hayworth sleeps
with angels.
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