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Curse
June 6, 2019
I’ve heard a man use you once;
he was spitting,
his face a bloated scarlet balloon.
You came from the root –
infinite seed
stroked with brown stripes
embracing tan shell -
A seed dropped into soil -
the first primitive syllable.
The man pitches sounds
into numb, open air:
rocket ships,
orange and red,
its rippling strips swelling,
sizzled and shivered,
impaled on the warm atmosphere
of the victim’s breath;
infernos never just grow
and rocket ships never just fly,
but like the man says:
“You’ve changed.”
© Johannah K., Mount Clemens, MI
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The first line of this poem just came to me naturally, and from there, the rest of the poem followed. This was my first seriously thought-about and written poem that I had actually spent time on. I was experimenting with different styles of language and images, so please, sit back and enjoy!