Catastrophe Art
MeLaina Elise Evans

Bleach splatters
on your gathered clothes:
tiny lilies. I am Gardener, so tender.

The fire, later, from the hands
of the devoted, each match
an unborn child -- awing potential.

In the kitchen conducting
the tinging glass on tile, direct
with dramatic vibrato.

Slashing the tires, I'm only
their faithful messenger. They said
to tell you shhhhh, shhhhh.