wyrdwind

Exclusion Zone

Summer solstice marks

the season of unrest, a lament

you’ve not heard. Once

we could count on storms, now

it just burns.

The last who remember before.

Flip phones or no phones,

no names on the net,

the computer’s place is a desk,

mistakes stay in the past.

From the window,

you wouldn’t know.

Sky blue and glare ghosts,

1950s and 70s cheerful,

streets empty of people.

Vultures wheeling a house

if the power blinks out.

Never knew someone lived there.

We scurry by in the small hours,

stirred up like hopping mice, burrowing owls,

and geckos. Little brown bats swoop

in the moonglow. An approachable furrow.

Leave my scratchings and readings, balmy

as a gymrat’s armpit. Bearable.

Not for long though.

Time enough to greet her,

sing some songs by the river,

scry her face for clues, ask

to know who I dream of,

where I belong.

Invasive Species

To be clear,

when it’s a tree spine snapping

-40 degrees, my order remains

iced black coffee.

I rock up with more vigor

than a fat flying squirrel.

Wool, boots, hat and go.

Black widows asleep in my bra—

when it’s on—bees bustle between

my thighs. Egg sack on my handlebars,

I leave well enough alone.

Skunks don’t trouble me none.

Called a kit from the dump

just because. Universal,

that scared baby trill. Where mama,

wee people hands grasping your skirt

adds years to your life.

Carrying all my groceries uphill over ice

without choice. Guttered in dirt slush,

well it be like that sometimes. Gravelly voice,

so slow to thaw, but it’s alright. It’s worth it

to mother what others miss.

Antihero Landing

Nobody squares up like a goose,

twenty four flapping pounds of fuck you,

these birds aren’t afraid to choose—

violence, yes—but partners too.

Oh they hit altitude,

go the distance, up and over Everest.

You read that right.

Seal Team Six shit—

sans imperialist trash. Silly

my ass. Never leave the fallen

behind. Be it your best friend

or your mate. Pity the lamed

fool whose dance card reads

my name.

Black Magic

When I had nothin’

but a place to sleep, a nest

of discarded things. Push pin mural

of gig posters off telephone poles,

pretty wrappers, and feathers.

Fallen branches strung with beads

and fairy lights. Traded heat

to smile inside. It’s not childish

if it’s how you survive.

Known a few ate guns for less,

got a brain throws fay gang signs

but I count myself blessed.

Sparkly depressed. Back then.

Bit like Tarzan. Bit like Tangled.

Come at this bitch sideways

and you’re best case scenario mangled.

Peace is when I can see myself

in my surroundings. This always seems

like absolute destruction

to those around me.

Chthonic Singles in Your Area

Women’s voices evolved

for range and specificity.

Language birthing.

But men,

theirs were selected for beauty.

Pleasing texture. I think,

I wonder, if First Woman walked

today, would the Goddess know

him by his timbre?

A worthy man

could only be broken

in this world. His signature, however,

intact. The most important piece.

The oldest stories speak

to her loss, to the betrayal.

A dragon, a serpent, denied

the sustenance of her consort.

Without him, only monsters born.

Not on her end of course, nah,

she can do what she wants,

ain’t no wrong.

But Jin, that spells apocalypse!

That’s just a woman’s prerogative.

If it’s not at her pleasure it ain’t fit

to exist. You get what you get.

Consider this your litmus test.

Bootstraps

Anyways, it’s not glass slippers,

it’s snake print Doc Martens.

Helluva time tracing these tracks,

closest I ever came to a prince

this funny dream I had way back,

running him down in the woods

at night. Some freezing, tar feathered

disaster boy. He was terrified.

Good times.

Can’t imagine what I look like

on the other side.

If you can’t get farther, you can just

be more. Full eldritch horror.

Gods said I’m bound to the earth.

Been a fuckin’ grind, for sure,

and the best bargain for youth

is body. Baby, one sip

of me and it’s the forever

kind of sleep.

Rule of Thumb

I pour the fucks I give

from a silver thimble, spiderwebs

off this spindle. Even so,

if I think well I say so, if there’s love

at all I’ll let you know. I am unsubtle.

Every day, every which way, because any day

could be your last. More than Covid

taught me that.

Always take an extra beat

for who shuffles their feet,

leave an extra seat, push back.

We’re tagged on a feed lot

headed for slaughter.

Sold a plan for life when we’re older.

Wage slave, stripper, or soldier.

I won’t roll over. I’m tired

but I’m still my Mother’s daughter.

The last text my coworker

ever received was me miles from her

asking if she needed anything

at the hospital.