Bethany Jarmul

Storm Explores Its Origins

Unstable atmosphere—cold, hot,
hot, cold. Vapors as vespers rising
toward the heavens. Collision,
collection, condensation.

Storm dislikes this story, writes
its own. A father made of fire.
A mother born of stone. A star
to salute its genesis.

Swollen with self-certainty,
with sulfur, with saline,
Storm disregards
your desires. Your longings

lost to gusts of glory. Who have you
loved? How did you lose it all?
Where did you learn to lament?
Storm never wonders, never asks.

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