The world isn’t ending (at least not today)

i wake to meadows all frosted where white-crowned sparrows sing and horses

graze out in pastures golden-lit in front of snow-tipped mountains and the air smells

like grass and cattle shit and the small ditch of water trickles through the cattail

as the red-tailed hawk circles like a flame and it must be that the world is in fact

not ending (at least not today)

and later i walk down the streets of this small town past the elementary school

where a teacher in the recess yard attempts control and gives up and the children

sense this small victory and erupt into full blown screams, pulled hair and legs

moving every which way—the teacher throws back her head and laughs

as if it were always meant to go this way and i think the world must not be ending

(at least not today)

and in the afternoon i call my mother as i cook sausages on the stove and we talk

about small things that make us laugh and large things that make us sad

and she tells me it’s not all that bad when i tell her everything just feels wrong

and it isn’t a dismissal but a refusal to let me think the world is ending (at least not today)

and that evening i watch election results filter in and the country lights up

a pale red then burgundy then bright crayon sunset and i decide to play music

and sing as loud as i can about nothing and think about how tomorrow i’ll walk down

our small main street where red signs stand side by side with blue ones

in front of the elementary school where kids will still scream utter delight

and if the world really is ending if a wildfire rages through or a landslide knocks

down the side of this mountain or all our healthcare is stripped away or someone

comes and shoots up that perfect school or any one of the horrible things that happen

every day in this country suddenly happens to us it’ll just be us in this small town

left with each other handing out food and water asking where’s so and so

and what do you need and bring over the children

and the world really could end any minute it really could it’s happened before

it’ll happen again there have been worse times there will be worse times

and tomorrow at least tomorrow i’m sure my mother will call to say everything

is just fine and my neighbor will smile as i walk past and the teacher

in the recess yard will throw back her head and laugh at the way we love

to make a mess of things and the sparrows will sing up the sun rising over the

horses put out in the meadow to graze as the snow falls thick over all of us