"All of Us Up There" by Adriana Stimola

Childless, in the push-
pull of March,
I sang — I don’t know why —
Ave Maria, over, and over,
until it almost hurt,

until my cheeks were buzzing
and my nose was gone,
and my voice was someone else’s;

walking the World’s Fair,
gum and a cigarette, thighs rubbing together;

moving backwards up mountains,
a cloud of goats;

standing, brown
and sweating on the shore;

oiling jet feathers before
the hunt.

I evaporate. I pull ourselves together,
all of us up there, until

we rain.
We pour.
We soak the world through,
give it all over, and
steam, we rise.