When the crows came to feast,
when the smoking wick of the sun
began shining its black light on us,
we found we could still go outside.
Ash washes off in light gray and emerald
swirls in just one shower,
and the water rations aren’t so strict
as to prevent a tolerable cleanliness.
We make do without melons, palm trees,
and most flowers, opting for quiet
bloom of orchid and cabbage,
acquiescing to the new luxury status
of sunlight and the old order.
Things hadn’t been that much better
anyway. (We, already hardened
by incessant faraway crisis.)
Yes, we lost some.
But only a few more than cancer
or heart disease would have taken.
The world still roars
in TVs and webpages,
only brasher and louder than before.
We gather at churches no more and no less,
but with new slimy self-righteousness.
We don’t talk about the apocalypse.
Instead, we hold our heads slightly higher,
feeling the shape of consequences
far softer than we deserved.
________
Lex Kim Bobrow is a mixed race Korean writer from South Florida. He is the editor of The Toxicologies Letter (tinyletter.com/toxicologies), aimed at making the internet a little less lonely. His work has been published in Synaesthesia Magazine, Saw Palm, Prairie Margins, and more. His debut chapbook, ‘The Boy with a Sledgehammer for a Heart’ is available through Finishing Line Press or on Amazon.
Photo by Davidson Luna.
