When we write stories about an apocalypse, it is usually because we are living through one.
No zombies this time
But someone had to light the first match
And someone has to raise earth
From its flattened ashes.
When the destroyers,
the children of dissatisfaction grieve this place,
will it feel sorry for us?
When the world starts over, who will hold its calloused tongue until its first word is something greater
than “more”
and its first taste is something more limitless
than sky
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 2:35 PM UTC
When we write stories about an apocalypse, it is usually because we are living through one.
No zombies this time
But someone had to light the first match
And someone has to raise earth
From its flattened ashes.
When the destroyers,
the children of dissatisfaction grieve this place,
will it feel sorry for us?
When the world starts over, who will hold its calloused tongue until its first word is something greater
than “more”
and its first taste is something more limitless
than sky
A note on the end of a world from a person whose colonizer ancestors have given this earth something to grieve for.
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