Thunder Voices Cindy Bousquet Harris Let’s use our rainforest voices as we sinew and vine through kiwi colors, listen to macaques, plantain squirrels scuffle in the canopy before the flash, the crack, shreds leaves to purple and blue. I will shake you into bold and bug-eyed patterns scribbled on white-backed sky. What about ribcage fronds, the quiet pool, dragonfly that rests in plum shade? Slice them a pie they won’t forget, shell of indigo tumbling past centipedes— and drown out those screeching mynas. Only for a moment. Even so. Once, I dreamt I was a mandolin strumming above the storm.
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