Antonio’s Lament
I’ll never understand why you
Pursue
These feeble imitations, which
Themselves
Combust like embers lost and found;
They burn
Upon a moonscape made of mud.
Silent
Except for the occasional fizzle, we
Vent steam
At one another’s faults like dragons
Without
Lighters, teaching ourselves to hear
The noise
But not the meaning underneath.
It claws
Out of its skin if prodded gently,
Snapping
At eggshells, and expanding
Like smoke
In a sky full of wind.
Natalie Stevenson studies literature at Sarah Lawrence College. She has been published in The Oxford Student, Coffeehouse, and The Cliffhanger.