remember well
the blinding flash
that sent me scurrying
underground
into my private bunker
I suspected this possibility
thankfully
I was prepared for the moment
that moment
that horrific moment
forever dividing then
from now
then
comfortably alone
walking my property line
along the azure waters
of the clear mountain stream
that rolled towards me
crisp and pure
then
in an instant
the startling sound
the strange light
soaring above the douglas firs
that stand proudly
at the river’s edge
sentries for centuries
protecting this northern boundary
of my lands
steady
enduring
supple in the winds
that waft and quicken
breathing life
whispering their secrets
now
two years on
since that ominous moment
the bone chill
the penetrating feeling
of fear
now
I am alone again
but now
quite absolutely
no evidence of survivors
my beloved wife
did not make it
the global communication grid
totally destroyed
too long
since I have seen
another’s eyes
or heard another’s voice
now
I ramble this valley
wade this stream
in my hazmat suit
mumbling quietly
to no one
rations are running out
water
food
I am at the ragged edge
of coherence
of sanity
I cling to the hope
for a sign of life
someday
any life
but they are all gone
every — last — one
gone
can I last
have I that patience
how long can I hold center
how long
until my fragile psyche unravels
if I could just remove this helmet
breathe fresh air again
feel the breeze on my face
while the trees are fine
carcasses are everywhere
animals
fish
birds
insects
I fear the air is toxic
deadly
will it ever be safe
how can I know
wait
what’s this
“Hey, hi little fella!”
rob kistner © 2019