What Would the Earth Say?
If the doctor told her, “Ma’am, I’m truly sorry,
but you have a millennia to live.”
Would a millennia to her, be but a year to me?
Earth paces around her room dimly lit
weighing options as though they were
A touchable arrangement of things
Moon audits her self pity.
All the Stars say in unison, memento mori, my love,
remember you too
Her body falls fitfully into several successive Depressions
Her real estate is no longer
People sell their homes
if they can
Perhaps the doctor would also say,
“You know, radiation is an option…”
The last fish then, wouldn’t have been fished from its sea at all
But floated belly up and boiled by a purple light finger of fire
To a foretold flame.