Aliens Wrapped in Ravioli
Currency
Dresses I Will Never Wear Again
Fable for a Father
Impromptu for Future AI Overlords
Joy
My Grandson’s First Week Back in the World
Ophelia
Premonition
Separation
The Sleepwalkers
The Trout Patch
The Urbanization of James Trumbull
Trespass
Wild Joy of Receiving
Premonition
Lindsay M. D’Andrea
No one can say I didn’t warn them. We’re finally afraid,
mostly of each other. Seas have been rising
in my dreams since I was born, and now here we are—
my snow-illusion of Future. I don silver
pants, tin foil hat, gas mask and have a laugh at myself
for wondering so often of ends. End of a rope, a line,
a year, a road. End of filling my cart with flour
for failed bread. End of fact, in fact. Before—after
the house burned down, my father said the fire
would teach us to change. Instead we learned to live
with char. Soot lined my palms for decades.
The wrong whiff of it still lives inside the old
washing machine. Wherever I construct a new bunker,
the ghost of that first ending follows. I let it.