Hurricane Me by Amy Rollinson

Beneath breastbone, beyond tissue
my heart powers an anxious convection

that becomes the cold front settling in my chest.
There are pressure zones that swirl

in the pits of my knees and this girl
can’t take the weight of the winds.

My nerves are like the boater’s knots
that fasten the thrashing boats to the dock

as this tropical depression thunders
in the pit of my stomach. Cheeks surge

warm–blood vessels part and flow.
The moisture on my brow is drops of rain

and my hands are blowing branches.
The panic rises from fingertips, flooding

while clear skies crash with blackened thought
discarding all within my path.

Who is minding this crystal ball eyeballing
the center eye wall

which forms from deep within?

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