Before she went boom

 

By the skin of my teeth,

by a hair’s breath,

by the thousand fervent prayers my mother told me counted.

Living, being, not going into a homicidal rage.

Always just close,

close enough.

A ripple under the skin,

a bump below the surface.

I will not be a wave, I will not be a wave.

By an unholy, tolerant, secular, indifferent grace,

survive.

This boring, tired calm,

this quiet, snobbish vacuum.

Krakatoa in the good old days.dc-cover-sh78cfdqpkg1o0q1at8fbuhr53-20160526134507-medi


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s