Whitney Egstad

Hurricane Season

Clouds bruise the horizon.
Something in the water–
a mangrove, a bull shark– whispers
a storm is heavy on the sea. I remember

it is the season of chugging indigo
from rain clouds. It is the season a dark sky spills
into my organs, flattens me on the shore.
I count my guilt like grains of sand. Do not ask

how I am doing. Ask me the color of my insides,
and I will tell you how the ones we lost still writhe
beneath my skin. I will tell you it is the season of begging the dead
to rise. A season to sleep in their ashes.

I dip my hands into urns
and lick my fingers. Do not wipe their dust
from the corner of my mouth. Watch me wizen my tastebuds,
parch my gums. Teach me how to grieve
you too. Show me how to unburn the bodies
with my tongue.

Whitney Egstad is a writer and educator in the Denver area. Her essays and poems have appeared in publications such as The Rumpus and Bellingham Review, and her poems are forthcoming in Marrow Magazine. She is researching healing centered education as a PhD student at University of Denver. As a volunteer, she serves as a trauma informed writing mentor for young writers. Though she hasn’t tasted a dessert she doesn’t like, her favorite sweets are mango chili lollipops and lavender caramels.