Laura Page
The Young of Cyclones Pale and Pale
The seagulls all look as if they were called Emma.
—Christian Morgenstern
Most experts say a cry
is not linguistically relevant, the womb
is not a lingual vault.
French or Latinx children still direct
their sorrows to mère, madre like prayers,
voices steepled.
German toddlers’ voices plant theirs deep, resonate.
African-American babies keening replicates
AAVE’s tense-and-supple.
The young of cyclones pale and pale.
Experts’ meteorological christening
is also not linguistically relevant, except to say that
after a hurricane, its namesake will often
vanish from ‘Popular Baby Names’ lists.
As I child, I know my laments were culpable.
I grew up mimicking the lupine wind through weathervanes.
I was piqued
when a boy I kissed in 3rd grade
had a category 5 named after him, and Maria,
drawing idle patterns on the black Atlantic of the chalkboard,
wanted to know when it would be her turn.
Andrew, the boy, the cyclone,
in a drawl we assumed default, told her
it never would be.
The gathering heads pale and pale.
Linguistically speaking, all a storm can do is cry.
Laura Page is the author of Children, Apostates (dgp, 2016), Sylvia Plath in the Major Arcana (Anchor & Plume, forthcoming), and epithalamium (forthcoming), chosen by Darren C. Demaree as the winner of the Sundress Publications 2017 chapbook competition. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Rust + Moth, Crab Creek Review, The Fanzine, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Red Paint Hill, The Rumpus, Unbroken, Maudlin House, TINGE, and elsewhere. Page is a graduate of Southern Oregon University and editor of Virga Magazine.
SUBMIT to What Rough Beast via our SUBMITTABLE site.
If you want to support the mission and work of Indolent Books, consider making a tax-deductible contribution to Indolent Arts Foundation, a 501(c)(3) charity.
Join our mailing list to receive news, updates, and special offers from Indolent Books.