April 4, 2020, 5:04 a.m.

The Conditional

wonder systems

Say tomorrow doesn't come.
Say the sun reflects on empty streets.
Say the garbage truck's an hour late.
Say we see the moon and wish for dark.
Say the eyes of every glass unfocus.
Say that listening is but repetition.
Say the mailman's late.
Say the kitchen's a leaky dam.
Say we never get to see it: bright
crowds, meeting blinking, always
coming close, lifting those whose essence
always was essential to our life
as fuel.
Say we never meet them.
Say we spend our last moments staring
to each other, eyes locked except
in coughs, until breaths rest, in others
and the vents one can afford.
Say, It doesn't matter. Say, That must be
enough.
 Say you'd still want this: belief in
pre-apocalypse, whose progression was
impossible, or inevitable,
never conditional.
 
 
after The Conditional by Ada Limón

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