Catastrophe / by Spirited Magazine

Spirited #5 [Noir Generation]

by Lindsay Ann-Thueme Naggie

I have never watched
floodwaters
encroach my cellar door,
not felt the earth
tremble underfoot.
I have not witnessed
devastation of any magnitude
or biblical proportion
except for
my own transgressions.
Yet, I know the cold seduction
of a .22 rifle
shouldered and barrel-cocked, expectantly;
the enticement to throw open
the throttle of a
candy-red mustang
on blind curved, back roads;
the grotesque curiosity
to step off rainbow-hued
shale cliffs
into the unforgivable waters
of Lake Superior
far below.

I know I am
too eagerly drawn
to the pulse quickened
glitter of danger
and
too often I have known:
vanity,
vengeance,
avarice,
malice,
rage,
deceit,
discontent,
that simmers
just below
this benign smile
I deal you now.
Thus, I need not
today’s headlines
nor this poetry 101 lecture

on how to
artistically acknowledge
despair
For, I am
quite knowledgeable
on how to be
a one-woman catastrophe.