August sparks electricity
where each touch is heat lightning in
every nerve like a tugboat in a bayou.
A tin can in battered waves with
a storm that barrels towards the Gulf.
Nameless and heat stricken with a
and Dad-doesn’t-cut-the-grass real hot.
Fingertips burn three months
out the year and I am an endless stream
of hot gulf air awaiting a name. I eat away
the edges of myself, whittling away coastlines
until all of my flesh fits within
the confines of an eye. That sweet spot
of lucidity—a knowing of where I have been
and where I am headed.
Down and only
to drown you.
This poem contains some special formatting. Go here to see it: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/823314375634264755
Madeline Trosclair is a writer from Southeast Louisiana writing poetry that explores the terrain of the Gulf Coast. Her work has been featured in Glass Mountain Magazine and is forthcoming in The Madrigal.