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