the locusts

By: Christy Hahn

My mouth is a threshing crew.

The locusts drum the air.

All the leaves are gone.

My appetite can mow down 

another’s intent

like a horde of mutant insects.

Sky, thick with blight. I hide,

swat at the drove of what 

my tongue unleashed. Duck!

The destruction multiplies.

An insatiable void says:

Masticate. Devour.

Destroy.

The predilection to grind teeth

follows me to sleep, as I sort

out the day. Jaw, clenched.

Even the locusts take a break.

Wings collected at their sides,

they perch in clumps in the mango trees.

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Christy Hahn is currently a Master’s candidate in English at the University of Missouri-Columbia. Her poem, “The Stages of Grief,” won Mizzou’s Davidson Prize in 2022. She lives in Rolla, Missouri with her husband and two teenagers.