Supplication

by Annie Stenzel

May I please

not miss a minute of this

swift bliss, the privilege of existence

I can no longer take for granted

now that I know how swiftly

it can be snatched from any living

being: the tree that cannot flee

wildfire’s approach; fish that did not know

to fear the osprey’s talons.

Lightning spares some, incinerates

others. And yet I can’t not

revel when thunder booms

across the lake—so loud and long

we marveled in its mystery.

Yes, the angled spears of lightning

come first. They heat the air to an unthinkable

temperature so that its constituents

expand, sending a shock wave that our ears

perceive as sound, as thunder, a noise

that I want to believe is joy in the sky

because why not be joyful when I can?

Until I cannot.

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Annie Stenzel (she/her) is a lesbian poet who was born in Illinois, but did not stay put. Her second full-length collection, Don’t misplace the moon, was published in 2024 by Kelsay Books. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in U.S. and U.K. journals including Galway Review, Gavialidae, Kestrel, Night Heron Barks, Rust + Moth, Saranac Review, Sheila-na-gig, SoFloPoJo, SWWIM, The Lake, and UCity Review. A poetry editor for the online journals Right Hand Pointing and West Trestle Review, she lives on unceded Ohlone land within walking distance of the San Francisco Bay.