Tonight's Poet Corner: Our Natural Disaster
Our Natural Disaster by Belinda Roddie This is real life. Our bedroom torn up like Tornado Alley. We've tied our T-shirts together to make curtains so our Peeping Tom neighbors can't see us writhe on the mattress like we've been possessed by a witch doctor. This is an illegal fireworks show, and we are lighting up the white plaster in reds and blues and pinks and violets. Heaving, howling, hairless coyotes shrieking at the full moon outside. We move like animals, but that's because we are animals, baring our teeth and contorting our bodies so that we can hit each other's sweet spots at just the right moments. One-two-three-four, five-six-seven-more. More. More. More. This is real life. This is the B-roll they discard after the final cut. The footage is raw, but it catches people's eyes, and that's why we don't let anyone watch us in our personal cyclone, our terrific typhoon, our hurricane still lasting through the night and le...