blitztorte / lightning cake

Avery Yoder-Wells

If I say I was nine when I saw lightning / allow my lie. Then another—it was yellow and I stood in the living room/ in my pajamas / with a popsicle / when— 

/ when / 

a screw-top bottle of lemon gum / the crackle of jaunty mango boots / 

a concussion of moons / popping and fizzing and sprawling like a comet / paints damp grass with
amber / like a smoldering balloon / a wayward god— 

Is this enough yet? Do I make myself clear? / It was yellow. 
A sea creature luminous in its own fizzling mouth. 
So bright I was certain / 

I was eight or seven—forgive me / 

that the entire storm was localized above our carpet 
spackling the ceiling / trailing eye flares from the fireplace. 

So yellow / for a second / 

I am sorry / I was wonderstruck / I was only just born. I stood bare-foot 
in my kitchen / ate nothing / and lightning speared the house before me— 

sparked / checked our readiness / found me half-baked. 

And withdrew / toothpick jaundice-clean. 
So quick and sweet, I was the only thing burning.

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Avery Yoder-Wells (they/them) is a trans, queer poet who lives adjacent to Baltimore. They like word puzzles, bagels, and small useless facts. Their work has appeared in Mausoleum Press, Connecticut River Review, VIBE's "bellyful" folio, Bullshit Lit, and more. They lurk on Twitter at @averyotherwise.

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