here is a good equation: all bowls of soup
multiplied by I BRAKE FOR WILDFLOWERS
bumper stickers plus the miracle of scabs
and scars and healing equal a probably kind
planet. a haunted planet, but livable, and worth
protecting and loving. let’s talk about love.
my favorite planet of all. i love those old, line-heavy
drawings where wind is a stumbly smoke puff
emerging from some cloud god’s chapped lips:
a 2-cent deity with yawning eyes and a vast,
unknowable body. standing on my front porch,
summer storm sleepyheading toward us,
i feel the wind spur the magnolia trees, rustle
cotton. a wonder: how anything so tired can
move. as a teenager, my father raced sailboats
with his brothers. they memorized every synonym,
every translation of capsize. still, they celebrated
how the wind choired, cupped them together.
made them small as my matching finger scars.
hope: their cathedral. something to brake for.
on the front porch, the wind caws through
the treeline—shakes my skirt, tells me storm’s
coming. it’s true: i’ve seen the sky eat itself, but that’s
yesterday’s news, tomorrow’s worry. today is for
soft words and ballast. today is for knowable kind.
Adelina Rose Gowans
Poetry
BFA Writing 2025
Swansea, South Carolina
