Where the Lightning Strikes the Tree

— Meg Wade

Mama says the silver side predicts the weather

                                                  We are touched whether we want it or not

My head between my knees, back against the door, the hushed part of the song

                                                                                                              still warbling

                    —maybe you shouldn’t have brought me back

Outside rain beats the river’s swollen belly

                                        There is a volatile and sacred nature to being

                                                                                          healed—this scar

          proof of mercy                                   our brief bodies

                              all glitter and sadness

                                                                      fit to be tied

I meant to be sea glass you found in the sand

                    summoning something                                 larger than myself

Mama says never conjure anything you can’t banish

Storm wished for                                         Storm came

Read more from Issue No. 11 or share on Twitter.