trappists by allison emily lee
The world doesn’t end.
I carefully explain survival in nuclear winter
I cannot tell you the codes but the seed banks
are slowly emptying fields of wheat flattened by
dust roads sinking into the desiccated aquifers
the earth’s mass shrinks daily the elevator above
the desert grows and grows and grows
a silver ribbon that looks farther and farther away
as we climb the mesa scaling tombs dyed with
bloody handprints they too clawed against the
hardscrabble scorpion landscape dreaming of cool
black space worshipping an image of blue
marbled satellites circling a gentler sun gold
green soft our dry lips healed with water.