I was a blackbird for Halloween when those shapeshifters came out of the terraforming colony and explained
that destiny is only a mile away from the gas station where you lost your virginity and my best friend’s mother still cries alone at night because the children don’t come home
I eat a peach and think about the nature of things, you take apart the television again, we hold hands
sing songs, paint curse words onto the windows of abandoned ice cream parlors
our city looks like hell and we dance between broken bottles, spider webs carving out our nervous anticipation when we gather the courage to leave the house
I enlist woodland creatures who serve us humbly and well, an eagle flies between skyscrapers
before you ask me what it means that the rains don’t come anymore you gut a river fish and look to the sky
molding grey to black we run our hands over our broken limbs tell stories of elephants and orange groves
you always know what to say the sun blinks out and we wait for the carnivores to take us, the snow falling on outstretched hands
Nicole Storey is a writer from Albuquerque, New Mexico. When she is not writing she practices yoga, plays with her dog and basks in the sun like a lizard.
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