When Do Death and Destruction Break?
Sacred:
every eddy, home run, cat,
all flooring, seeds
rough air, boulders, ponytails,
sinkholes. It is hard to believe that every rock
is holy. It’s pouring wind and flood.
I long for an earlier date of birth.
Old people, who in ancient times
did not walk fast, scuttle toward overhangs.
Sustaining:
crumpled dirt clapping as it hits wood
you spent weeks selecting
and then lacquering yourself
wearing a gas mask you stopped bothering
to take off each time you went outside.
Can you believe it? People
sit in boxes under false light all day
and we are working hard to live forever.
Grief:
lying in a growing pool of your own blood
after a vehicle crash
unable to decide whether to hope
to be close enough to the road so that headlights reveal you
or tires finish you off.
Resist this. Hurt, yes, as much as you can.
But wanting to die gives the thieves
permission to want you dead.
Megan Wildhood (meganwildhood.com) is a Seattle-based creative writer, scuba diver, and social-services worker known for her large, idiosyncratic earring collection. Her poetry chapbook, Long Division (Finishing Line Press, 2017), ruminates on sororal estrangement and volleying the challenges of growing up on the planet that’s very nearly aflame. An excerpt of her novel was published by AMP Hofstra’s literary magazine in May 2019. Other work has appeared in The Atlantic, The Sun, and Yes! Magazine. She regularly writes for Real Change and Mad in America.
