Everything is fine: a means to endure
news cycles, historic cycles, menstrual
cycles. This is walking home after work,
crawling into bed naked. Night, quiet with
snow. I am an empty bank account.
I am a pylon glowing in the dark. I am
a primal scream. I am not here.
The body speaks first. If that doesn’t work,
the mind empties: a crate of crabs scuttling
toward nothingness. Authoritarianism
blossoms like a corpse flower: foul men
spread their stench across the globe.
I remember these songs. It’s all on fire.
A meteor // a virus // a bomb
like a dark-eyed angel hurtles toward us.
I’d like to see the ocean lap against a glacier
before the end. I’d like to see the northern
lights. I’d like to watch effigies of foul men
burn in the desert. I’d like to be there, reel there,
at the end.
Copyright © 2026 by Amy M. Alvarez. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on January 23, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
