Cassandra

Art by Lauren Smith

A droning like miniature chainsaws

Is it the solar converter?

No, it’s bees in the maple

A great disruption is coming

The baby’s reflux screams finally cease

I can’t move, else he’ll wake

Never alone, yet lonely; then

Bellbirds – ping, ping, ping

She’s been trying to warn us since the 80s

What does it do to a soul to know?

Her body, hardened coral, bleached by impotence

Should we build a bunker?

Some days I don’t leave the house

I am but a character in his story

Lichen fades, sap drips to sting

The act of survival is time-consuming

Even so, I would bury my feet here next to yours

Our roots entwined for as long as we are allowed

A tiny spider gliding down a zip-line from your bough

Even fire cannot destroy grass