Red God White Sun (poem)
Red God White Sun
Back from a moment in prototypia
she watches dawn, inked-over
herself still as the unsafe
hunger neutral before muscles
beauty, remember
she does not counsel the surviving
to waste on it
curtain tatters take…broken blinds…first warning, shush
there is mud in early morning, gullying rain by dusk
lunatic electric that makes roulette of animal life
this is what she does
drinks of settled water ponded in the new low spot
masks her face and arms with eddied trash stuck on
so her eyes can see, or crusted mud alone
It’s the high flat perch you need
cars and trucks choked dead at angles everywhere
block streets, mummified forms within blow exposed
lost again
the surviving learned in their separate ways
not to shelter in sheltering things
the strange thick air bears projectiles
the splintering comes, doors muffled in
crack yours in desperation, be buried in dry quicksand
it takes seconds
Not walls, not stairwells, not trash bins, whipping makes dunes
You’ll have to endure the scouring
An attic floor or a roof
Fire escapes with grillwork coveted
But the fighting is bloody no one partners
With the steel pipe she carries for weapon and tool
She smashes windows, searches cars for bottled water
Snacks in plastic wrapping
Poor corpses she shrugs aside
And if she finds Doritos or a Twinkie
Very sorry to share it, she would be
Red God White Sun
What Would I Do
(2020, Stephanie Foster)