When all the computers crash,
_____________________after woods
come down,
_________our homes demolished, and the stores
get looted for their lumber then razed,
after the calendars and shelves and books
are burned for heat,
______________we’ll gather every bit
of art—so long Picasso, goodbye Klimt—
and make a fire by which we’ll eat and pray.
Next to the flames will be the extra socks,
our briefs, the ugly Christmas sweaters, every
stitch of the family quilt, the flags of nations,
until there’s nothing more to burn and then
we’ll huddle close in caves,
___________________talking to God.
We’ll tell stories about the lives we had—
the food, days off, insurance, homes, and the birds
singing us all awake—and kids will dream
about our past, what even now is myth.
Photo by Jacob Spinks, used and adapted under CC.
