Issue 34 · November 2021

Art & Lit



Have you ever heard - of dynamite?

When the waves are crashing - scatter rocks

the low hum of her washing machine heart -

and it rumbles. Blue - a flood of blue -

pressure building up

and over - time - weaving

it's nimble fingers to pry apart our bodies,

those we thought were lost - to smoke. Green -

a mind of green, pressed, to twist its meaning -

how could trees hold so much fortune? Dynamite -

in their eyes - however black - not love

she screams, not love. Palm to fist -

palm to word, to word without sound,

dynamite, without sound, is just might -

flashing - once and never final

repercussions scattered in the eyes - of dead survivors -

living - in the cacophony - of past.

Ripley Bright