Dave Bonta's short, untitled poem feels like a fragment of a larger moment, and it doesn't explain itself. It opens with a survivor: someone "unscathed" who has held on to their "new electronics," as if they came through some trouble with only their shiny possessions intact. There's a faint irony in that. Coming through safely seems to matter less than what is still rattling inside.
Then the poem turns physical and strange. "The witch in the belly / rose to the breast" suggests a dark, uneasy feeling, perhaps fear, desire, or anger, moving upward from the gut toward the heart. The speaker seems to be watching this happen, either in the person addressed or in themselves.
The ending is the sharpest part. A firecracker under a hammer is about to go off, and the final "urgent You" reads like a sudden outburst of need. The mood is tense and charged, with feeling about to break loose. The poem leaves it unclear what happens next.