<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Unread Message
\nby
\nRadiance Angelina Petro<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Who do you think you are?
\nIf you see the lightening flash
\nit means you\u2019re surviving the storm.<\/p>\n
The spinning river of the Milky Way
\nalso carries dark constellations,
\nand worlds flung like pieces of pottery.<\/p>\n
Each moment, born into the future,
\nunder a crimsoning sky, where red snakes
\nmove among ruins, is a chance to memorize ourselves,
\nand wade belly-deep in the lakes of our wounds.<\/p>\n
Oceans become fields, become forests,
\nbodies resolve themselves into the earth.
\nWhoever said we were born to be happy?<\/p>\n
There are so many hollows and shields,
\nso many precious metals ensconced in mountains,
\nso many things blown out of proportion,
\nand so many places, like Death Gulch
\nin Bryn Athyn, Pennsylvania, where two trains
\ncollided head-on December 5th, 1921,
\ndue to one unread message, killing twenty-seven,
\nwounding seventy.<\/p>\n
Morning coordinates with the night,
\nhatching suggested plans and diagrams of wind.<\/p>\n
Grab a tattered shawl, fling it over your shoulder,
\nit\u2019s OK to move out disheveled–there are no solemnities,
\nand you won\u2019t be shriven\u2014just go.
\nYour ability to feel awe is still intact,
\nand try as might to ignore it, but your need to love
\nstill aches.<\/p>\n
Movement is our mother-tongue.
\nThe hairs on the backs of our neck are standing.
\nWe\u2019ve read the message. Our heartbeats
\nreverberate in our blood. It\u2019s time to remember
\nwho we are.<\/p>\n
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