slipping between dimensions & the world ends

A poem by Hannah V. Warren.

2021

Months--Poetry
Poetry

en-US

text

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Copyright protected by Hannah V. Warren. Use of materials from this collection beyond the exceptions provided for in the Fair Use and Educational Use clauses of the U.S. Copyright Law may violate federal law. Permission to publish or reproduce is required.

Note on transcription: This transcription may not reflect the poetic form established by the poet. Please refer to the PDF file of this poem available in the Files section for proper formatting.


slipping between dimensions & the world ends

I know what you’re thinking, but there is no happy ending. we
will not gather as one, our hands over our salivating mouths,
our eyes thin as paper. we will not come together arm-in-arm.
we will not photograph ourselves, our hair braided with oil &
water, for future evolutionary bipedals to caress. we will claw
slick earth. we will bury ourselves like moles & live beneath
the ground afraid & alone. we will lose our sight, our trimmed
fingernails. we will grow elongated muzzles, furred bellies.
armageddon is already here, living inside the lining of our
wombs, the rotten pear skins melting into the soil, the leftovers
of a swift’s nest. if this ending were a serpent, it would have
already swallowed its own tail. it isn’t predator or devil or
extraterrestrial. I know you feel like you can disappear
sometimes & isn’t that enough? other versions of ourselves
propel us as we gorge on the dead, their good deeds syrup
on our fingers.