During the Apocalypse

We’ll see, we kept saying.

We baked bread and held the babies. We remembered bread and babies. We sat in parked cars and shook our heads, wondering about the others behind glass, shaking heads, and at the ones walking in circles in the intersection who waved their arms and shouted what we could not decipher, yet. We looked often to the creatures nearby. We kept them close in our homes, in our cars, in our beds. We studied their movements and tried to read their eyes and faces. We gave daily reports of their movements and kept watching, as with oracles. They were judging us, we knew. But how?

The children looked away and seemed to talk less, and the outside play we had once taken for granted now seemed fraught, as with religion and history and plans. Everywhere you looked, there were images over images, and they held us. Most of what we did was wait and watch. We’ll see, we said, we’ll see, but it was more of a question. We watched the sky, watched the bread, watched the ovens, watched the pets. 

We watched the children. There was something we wanted to tell them. We were waiting for the right words.

From Rubble

An invocation for healing.

After we’ve read and re-read the last bomb-shelter bedtime story, enough that we no longer need the books; after the skins of our backs have collectively dulled the barbs at our borders, after children no longer know the difference between fire and sky, what will we know for certain, except the common ghosts floating among us like pigeon feathers? When the rags of our bodies are strewn across the singed lands of our erased ancestors, and we’ve burned the last of our vengeances in the name of the justices we stood before rights, when the mute children no longer need to be hushed, will we remember to offer a beginning in our next word?

Live at the Apocalypse!

Let’s go! someone said, meaning to the apocalypse. I thought it was coming to us.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Let’s go! someone said, meaning to the apocalypse.
I thought it was coming to us.

Sure, but let’s meet it.
What do we bring?

Whatever you want. Everything! But you may have to check it at the door.
Will there be snacks?

No, just a single unrestricted feast.
Dress code?

The less, the better.
What else?

Bring every ending, every lilting note of your unuttered cry––
What about the pets?

Well, obviously the dog comes with.
And the cat?

You know cats. I suggested this morning and she just gave me a look.
Like, “Again with this apocalypse?”

I think she’s probably done a few already.
What about the sleeping arrangements?

Have you been listening? Who’s sleeping?
Will there be singing?

At first, only silence, and then, there will only be singing.