i am like the moon

above via Nylon

Tornado Child by Kwame Dawes

I am a tornado child. 

         I come like a swirl of black and darken up your day; 

         I whip it all into my womb, lift you and your things, 

         carry you to where you've never been, and maybe, 

         if I feel good, I might bring you back, all warm and scared, 

         heart humming wild like a bird after early sudden flight. 

 I am a tornado child. 

         I tremble at the elements. When thunder rolls my womb 

         trembles, remembering the tweak of contractions 

         that tightened to a wail when my mother pushed me out 

         into the black of a tornado night. 

 I am a tornado child, 

         you can tell us from far, by the crazy of our hair; 

         couldn't tame it if we tried. Even now I tie a bandanna 

         to silence the din of anarchy in these coir-thick plaits. 

 I am a tornado child 

         born in the whirl of clouds; the center crumbled, 

         then I came. My lovers know the blast of my chaotic giving; 

         they tremble at the whip of my supple thighs; 

         you cross me at your peril, I swallow light 

         when the warm of anger lashes me into a spin, 

         the pine trees bend to me swept in my gyrations. 

 I am a tornado child. 

         When the spirit takes my head, I hurtle into the vacuum 

         of white sheets billowing and paint a swirl of color,