Apocalyptic poems, posted every m-f.


we name her darling because,
at the time,
it seems appropriate

you will have just spent a handful of hours
gasping in the back seat of a broken volkswagon,
fingers clutched to the driver seat
to the door handle above your head
to anything

my hands will be covered in blood,
she will be covered in blood –
we’ll be delirious
won’t have eaten in three days
maybe four

five days prior to her birth,
you see,
the car won’t start
and we won’t be able to get over to sammy’s
to see if he’s got any spare beets
or something

i will refuse to leave your side,
at that point
i will say heroic things and be
too afraid to leave you.

when you go into labour
the car still won’t start,
when she’s born
the car still won’t start,
we name her darling
and I realize I’ll have to make the trip
by foot

it takes me days,
my heart is like a lizard in the winter
my feet go dead numb
sammy can’t spare much

by the time i get back to you,
she’s gone
i can think of nothing else to do
and so i light a fire
and cook the beets

we can’t taste a thing
but still eat like jackals
because we are dying of hunger.

i am telling you this not to be hurtful
or alarm you,
but because i don’t know how these visions work,
whether or not i can avert them –

if i can’t,
if darling’s fate already hangs over our heads,
well i’ve been there
i’ve felt that weight,
and i will do anything i can to parcel out the blame.


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