Power Outage pt. II

Written by Callan Latham – Instagram: @callanwrites

The wall moves, a corner at a time 
until it is only corners and one edge. 
The ghost that lives in the space between
the light switch and the door 
likes to lick guests’ fingertips—the only 
language it ever learned. A storm batters us 
from the inside, tearing apart the wiring. 
Thundercloud pries my hands open 
until it can reach the lines on my palms,
unravel them like plastic falling from 
the angel’s face. I never learned the language 
of a hurricane, only mirrored its image. 
One thing at a time, dissecting homes 
with rare precision, close destruction. 
My belly lay open, the opposite of an eye. 
I have never reached a calm so still it tore me apart.

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