Evening Gentle Storm
birds fly between fat rain drops
leaves twist, belly up to take the wind
and my body turns twelve-year-old nostalgic
yearning for a jogging suit, cheese doritos
Flowers in the Attic, and D’s tongue in my
mouth. also breasts, blood and the boldness
to tell the evil stepdad to fuc* off. it all
comes in time. my gentle storm.
VANESSA SHIELDS 