Old Order

Old Order 11/11

Common wisdom says not to make promises
etc. etc. etc.

That everything comes in time

In time the voices will slow and fade from memory
like the exact features of a dead relative’s face
or the position a felled tree was in the day it was chopped

When the alarm sounds and we end up in the street
and we watch the building smoke then inflame
it is cold and raining and the trucks are loud and bright

Out belongings turn into thick white smoke ash
etc. etc. etc.

I hold the hands of a stranger neighbor and we hug each other

I look into her eyes and she looks into mine
we make promises about things being all right about
the sky not falling on us

And it doesn’t