Ianna Rosa Román 8/26/20
Wind does not know any better but to blow.
It whips up my fiery belly
until I can feel nothing else,
Tongues of white-hot flame reaching up through my chest,
Screaming to my esophagus,
Demanding to emerge triumphant.
I don’t let it.
It wells up inside, clenching my heart in a cotton grip
So angry I wonder if I’ll ever come out again.
I wrap my mouth in linen and
place two coins on my eyes for the ferryman.
When did I learn to keep my rage
Hidden in a music box locked with a silver key?
I’m wound up and all I dare let escape is soft piano melodies.
I hope my dog tooth smile conveys what words do not.
I hope I terrify.
I wait patiently to rip away my soft skin and reveal iron underneath
Impenetrable and horrific in its beauty
All teeth and gore and broken bones.
That will be the day.