When you’re a barbed wire fence,
I’m a breeze in an open field,
when you’re bass drum, I’m tracing
paper, blown through a comb.
When you rage like a forest fire,
I’m sparkler—writing my name in small light.
When you’re wolf, I’m Grandma,
knitting silently in the wardrobe.
When you hurl loud words at me,
I make myself into Haiku on rice paper.
You’re always superlative, so I redact.
And sometimes the world raises its voice—
tells me my narrative is all wrong.
These days I’m not sure I know
what’s right. What’s wrong.
Michelle Diaz has been published by Under the Radar, 14 Magazine and numerous poetry journals. Her debut pamphlet ‘The Dancing Boy’ was published in 2019 by Against the Grain Press. Her collection ‘Raising Ghosts’ was published in 2026 by Atomic Bohemian. She was nominated for the Forward Prize in 2024. She is currently working on her first full collection.
More work by Michelle Diaz
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