I become a hurricane

by Caroliena Cabada

again because I loved,

too much, and used the same words

for loving. Always flooding.

And eroding. And rising. And

swirling. All my first times

felt like whirling. A wind filled

the bedsheet sail and glided me.

In the bed sense, drench

is a good thing. But the fecund

waters of my body frightened.

The hunger of my legs

turned instead into running,

a river overflowing. I was

always sore in the morning.

What better word to describe

these rains from clear skies,

and dawn was pink outside

the way it wasn’t quite so inside me.

And for that, I’ll always

feel closed. This eye,

the bloody center, is a darker

texture. And yet, still salty

like tears or sea water.

Caroliena Cabada is a writer currently based in Ames, Iowa. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Whale Road Review, Babel Tower Notice Board, As It Ought To Be Magazine, The Orchards Poetry Journal, and elsewhere.




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