Because the Birds Will Survive, Too
I’m writing from after
the end of the world,
after apocalypse,
after the breakdown
of what we once knew.
I am writing to tell you
it is possible to survive.
We didn’t all come back:
that is not possible.
Some of us hid
and popped out again
from holes as deep
as the sky. Some of us
learned to grow sustenance
in our backyards, once
the provinces of lawnmowers.
We kept our pets—
I know that is worrying you
but we had to love
more, sometimes,
than we had to live.
You don’t know yet
what type of explosion
I am talking about:
will you, personally,
watch the parts of yourself
take leave of each other
and trudge down unknown
paths? Will the land itself
break apart, crack into
tree-swallowing fissures,
mouths you nightmare about?
I’m telling you yes.
I’m telling you live.