Afterlight

Afterlight

Kimberly Phinney

To sail into a thunderstorm is not so
commonplace: to have your body split in two,

to feel the electric fissures become you
and learn the cracks as you navigate

in your upside-down way.
Your pulsating heart, your pulsating brain—

both opened to calamity. Some might call
this chaos pain, but the good rain

poured in and flooded me.
And though I ached and rocked like those tiny

boats at sea, there were seeds planted deep
within me—hibiscus and white lily—

waiting for the tempest winds to break
and wake me from the dark

with His afterlight—
to bloom.

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Kimberly Phinney
Artist & Literature Teacher

Published in Ruminate Magazine, Calla Press, and Heart of Flesh

Photography by Ricardo Braz