by Crystal Stone

There are yellow skies and no

storm sirens. The hail bursts

large enough to break my window

and I think about letting nature in,

to clean my carpet. The thunder is

a heartbeat, mine. My eyes June

with longer days. They warm

and lengthen. The prairie grasses

outside look blue because my eyes

want them to water beaches

instead of streets. I want my bed

to boat my body on the coast I miss.

My hair is spring, blooms flyaways.

I’ve lost so much. Many poems, always

listening to others. They tornado my mind

empty of my words. I don’t want

to sound like the men I’ve talked to.

Only the women. Only the earth.

Only the grasses, wind, hail and sky.

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Crystal Stone's poetry has previously appeared or is forthcoming in New Verse News, Occulum, Anomaly, Writers Resist, Drunk Monkeys, Poets Reading the News, Jet Fuel Review, Badlands Review, and elsewhere. She is an MFA candidate at Iowa State University. Her first collection of poetry, Knock-off Monarch (Dawn Valley Press), was recently released on Amazon.