David Donna
We made it through
okay.
It's not that we were ready;
living things died
that were more alive than we
had been. People, animals,
train stations. The world
became complicated, then
simple. We made it through
okay, though
once
in the hollow
of an afternoon
I let it out between us
like a bat
flapping in a cataract of daylight
rictus pitched scrabbling
at air
unready to be
released here to be seen—
an ounce of warm blood
bundled in twigs and rags