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)