I walk into the room and
stop before amber rails of
sunlight piercing the dusty window
painting the furniture and walls
just like it did
when everyone was alive
I hear their voices
rippling in other rooms
the splash of a grandmother’s
laughter among
chattering streams of
aunts and uncles
the walls glow as my friends
did when we were still
friends and
young
I hear a television playing
among the haloed motes
of dust and remember that
most of the things we loved
as children are gone
comic books on supermarket spinner
racks now comic book stores
now comic books
gone altogether
and the monster magazines
at the 7-11 and the
music on the radio and
the TV shows and movies
that we’d talk about
next day at school
because of the hoax pandemic
watching the latest Big Movie
in a crowded theater is
a quaint custom
of a more secure past
that only felt more secure
because here we are now
The sun slips behind
the black jagged line
of mountains and
the silence returns
only the distant barking of dogs
the occasional car on the road
to remind me of what’s left
I’m glad to be here still
if only to marvel at this once
unimaginable desolation
if only because someone
had to write about it
someone had to stand alone
in this fading light
to mourn
I trust God
to tell me
in due time.
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