Since there is no longer any doubt, we are not crazy. (Well kind of, yes, but the healthy madness of king's jesters and queen eaters.)
Since we need to build a refuge against the violent winds of a government, of a state that fascistises and fascinates so much while angering us, stunning us, and taking our breath away.
Since hurricanes are encoded in my Creole DNA, and that Melanie is a human-made tornado,
Since we are X-woMen, mutants of rage, meteorological performers.

We want to whisper our angers into funnels, folded into the heart of a red clay whirlwind,
Or sing songs with bursting throats and endure together, torrents of violence,
Or thunder and roar and break free from the stranglehold in which our necks are tightened.
We are crumpled and want to burn everything, so if Lyon hands us a match...