Her Wrinkles Hold the Stars
Poem - by Marisca Pichette
Her wrinkles hold the stars
When she smiles
it rains. Not soft
pitter patter misting under
the mountains
fog clinging to the edges of morning
dew descending at twilight—
No.
When she smiles her lips incise the sky
in lightning
Her laugh throbs thunder
between clouds, deep ravines
soaking dandelion seeds
—muffled.
She carries storms in her throat
inhaled over the atlantic,
exhales rivers and monsoons
feeding ferns and washing footprints
into smoothness.
Her voice runs into the corners
of the world.
When she blinks, clouds break.
Her hair pours sunshine
freckles dappling beaches,
sparkling eyelash waves.
She cups magma in her hands
and blows gently,
watching us cool.