Holy Spirit

by Michaela Stephens

 

Waves of lightning wash under my skin

Try holding forest fires in a tissue bag

or a lion in a teacup.

So vast its degree

I strove to damp it down.

 

It left me..

a shriveled husk

brown,

a stunted bitter tree

 

Come back! (such sterling chagrin)

And wailing like an Irish hag

in a town made cinders.

Solitary.

 

Until a tickle, a drop of flame

returned my jubilee

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