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2013 poetry chapbook How a Bullet
Behaves
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If I Were a Tempest
Cara Losier Chanoine
Satellites would register
the ferocity of my voice.
My cupped hands would swallow ships.
I would part, then come together
like a falling piano hitting the ground,
a mess of broken keys reassembled in the froth.
You would stack sandbags
and evacuate your kingdom
for a horse that could ride against me,
some aquatic beast to shield your shoreline.
I would come anyway,
a vengeful storm aching to break,
open chested,
against the beach.