person Wanda Deglane, one poem

Wanda Deglane is a night-blooming desert flower from Arizona. She is the daughter of Peruvian immigrants and attends Arizona State University, pursuing a bachelor’s degree in psychology and family & human development. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming from Rust + Moth, Glass Poetry, L’Ephemere Review, and Former Cactus, among other lovely places. Wanda self published her first poetry book, Rainlily, in 2018.



July is the aftermath of screaming / the eerie quiet after hurricane / July is catching on fire from standing outside / we hide from blistering asphalt in a home that is a slow suffocation / what’s in the air? / we move from one death to another / with no rest stop in between / the best present I ever gave my mother was my pepper spray / it takes a special kind of agony to realize / she needs it more than I do / she says, all I’ve done in this life is wound myself to keep you safe / I don’t regret it for a minute / but I’m so tired of diving over volcanoes / I want to live a day without bruises / I pour gasoline in the shoes / of her abusers / it is all I can do / this heat makes fools of us / too much crying in too many public spaces / and far too late now to swallow another sadness / this anger is so corrosive / and there’s nothing to do with it / so we paint it over the walls / with bare hands / it looks a lot like blood clotting / like tight lips and compliance / the devil says, what can I do to keep you happy again? / I say, we were never happy / just quiet.


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