After the Storm

The freeway underpasses
will be a good place
to decide the new
anatomy, what each part

means. The heart was once the seat
of love. Now it will
be the liver, or
love will live in the fingers.

The liver will be the seat
of envy. Envy’s
fingers will filter
through the bile. And our sorrow

will live in our stomachs, growl
after the storm. Late
invasive species
will get seats at the table.

The fauna gets a little
wild. Wolves will live like
lost dogs. They will live
in Los Angeles and hold

their meetings under onramps.
They’ll bury the old
stories our bodies
are now holding in reserve.

Meghan Kemp-Gee lives somewhere between Vancouver, BC, and Fredericton, NB. She writes poetry, comics, and scripts of all kinds. Her poetry has appeared in publications including PRISM international, Copper Nickel, Altadena Poetry Review, and Train. She teaches composition and co-created Contested Strip, the world’s best comic about ultimate frisbee. You can find her on Twitter: @MadMollGreen.

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