The Shape in the Storm

She had no shape. She had no storm.
She had no storm. She had no shape.
She was a ship for others to sail.
She was a thought for others to tame.
 
The storm came and brought life with no warning. A piercing glance through the falling photographs unveiled the face beneath the moral partitures. A revelation of a being yet to be conceived. A transgression of a property yet to be claimed.


She felt the storm. She had no shape.
She yearned for shape. She cursed the storm.


She spoke out loud to carve some contours. To reclaim the wilderness under the shelter of vigilant eyes. A new movement undressed her opinions from inside out. She became captive of her own unraveling.


How can you bear life on your feet if you can't hold the rain in your womb?
How can you recognize a face in the reflections of a broken mirror?


Only the monologue could sink her in. Or expose her bare skin to the eye of the hurricane.


She acted a shape. She embraced the storm.
She shared a shape. She became the storm.


The shape in the storm by Denise Pereira is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.