The Weather Underground

Stubborn atoms decide. To find us. Time relenting. As the explosion subsides. We are left with. Remnants. Broken chalk. With which to outline the dead. The beasts with full bellies. Our bones their toothpicks.

Go back he screamed. As I wondered what back could be. Beginning. Middle. End. It was anyone's guess. Back to where I thought. As I contemplated all the lives we'd left.

The quarter on her wrist. Playing heads or tails with if. The island in her head. Talking to the ocean in shouts. Just pretend she warns. That there's no one there. Ignore the pistons. As the motor peters out.

The promise of the vacuum works its ways into the grief. She pretends there are flowers. In the soil she has saved.