by Olivia
First, dismantle silence.
Fold it into a paper bird and let it drown in wind.
Whisper: “please”
Scream: “burn”
Shut up.
You’re too loud for the weather.
Collect the weather that forgot what to be,
half bruised.
It will flow toward you, wanting shape.
Give it your breath; it prefers borrowed lungs.
Make it a circle.
No–triangle.
Square.
Forget geometry, just throw
it all into the air.
You’ll think: this isn’t fire
But your ribs will make sparks in Morse Code saying:
.. / .- -- / - .... . / -- .- - -.-. .... / .- -. -.. / - .... . / - .... ..- -. -.. . .-.