#140: Apocalypse
I wonder what stories we’ll tell
of the apocalypse
when the world was on fire
when the plagues came
when everyone had to go inside.
Will we talk about the way
our glasses fogged up
or how coat closets became
mask closets?
Will we remember
our haunted homes,
quiet and still
collecting dust
for only us?
Will we remember how we moved
through our days
leaving coffee mugs and
piles of mail,
reminders to ourselves
that we are still alive.
Will people recall
the sounds of the sirens
the empty subways
the quiet skies?
Will we remember how the planet
breathed again
grew green again
hoped again?
Will we remember how grief lingered
because goodbyes and funerals
were stolen like
final breaths?
What stories will we tell
of the apocalypse?
I hope it’s how
we were never the same.
I hope it’s how
love found a way.
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