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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