Retribution Comes

There’s a storm in the fire, here,

or is it just a cloud that cannot

quench the desert’s thirst?

—

No, bring the sky your worst

poison,

then ask if it has

any more words to say

for the saints in the ground

for the soldiers in the sea

for the servants in the streets

Retribution comes

by the storm,

by the fire,

tell the story,

show the pyre

(but when?

When will the rain

obliterate

the blood

of the beaks

on the vultures,

when will the thunder

rattle the greed

out of our hearts,

when will the clouds

hold the sun

from scorning

our flawed deeds?

When will

justice descend from the heavens

and end

our screams?)

—

There’s a storm in the fire, here,

where my body burns with heat,

there’s a race in the rills

from the hilltops

of our eyes,

til the time

in the night

when the salt streams all go dry,

there’s an ache

under arteries

where our families used to sing–

do you ‘member

when we laughed

to the moon

through the scope

of our fingers?

How we said,

“If I was a storm,

I would save the Sahara.

If I were a tornado,

I would grow jealous of

your house

with its lights left on

while you sleep.

As a lightning bolt,

I’d crave

how quietly

you could

touch the earth

and keep running;

as a blizzard,

I would bury

the Amazon

to make crystals out of sweat drops

and sell them

for a lotta money”

no,

we know we cannot travel to the moon

with our fingers and eyes and hot bodies

from the summer

but here under the canopy of stars

we can pretend

these leaves are for the healing of the nations

and their roots

are spreading in us,

drinking up

every hurt

the air bestowed upon our ancestors

and handed down to us

in the makeup of our lungs

Retribution comes

when the moon

falls

to meet our knees

retribution comes

when the lightning travels slow enough

it can hear a murmured bedtime story

without breaking out in rage

retribution comes

when no thunder gives a warning to the storm

retribution comes

when the fires hurt

retribution comes

when we outlast the lights

retribution comes

like a prophetess pleads in the wilderness

retribution comes

when our blood spills to the soil

and it screams

where our mouths

kept up peace

retribution comes

when the earth says

“No more”

and the stars bow to her

and our telescopes and tears

and what was taken from childhood

crack before her frozen eyes

and leak out

everything,

and her rain and blizzards

bathe us then build us a bed

so we might not witness

war

any more

retribution comes

one goodbye stacked upon another

in a heart

with no dance to show

but the solo song

retribution comes

in the wet grass

the still land

the rocks and mud

aware of our thoughts

heavy enough to drown them

retribution

in the breeze

the wheezing green

the winter

silence

comes

like a dime

turned on you

showing a betrayed face

for the first time

and we

beg for mercy for ourselves,

to not hear our names

in the ground’s voice

calling for vengeance–

just our tongues

crying

“Punish

the wicked,

never us”

and we

know

there’s a storm in the fire,

here,

in our mind

and stomach

and liver

and the craters in the moon

still building

still growing

and burning

and we are waiting

for