We Watched

micro-fiction about the end of the world

I don’t write poetry. But this was written for Mina Howell ‘s Micro Fiction March prompt to write a poem about the end of the world.

*I’ve been playing with the 17-syllable “American Sentence” invented by Allen Ginsberg, so used those and this image of a beach as a jumping off point.

P.S. It’s not a poem. I know that.

We Watched.

Unseasonable storms, rising coastlines, all played parts in their world’s end.
But shortages, turning on each other, craving, that’s what did them in.
Few remain, old selves shed, in hollow corners, grappling with their own sin.
With what they did.
To survive.

The sun still rises.
Pink and orange and glorious.
Palm trees still lean over water.
The tide still laps the welcoming shore.

There are fresh footprints in the sand.
Our footprints. 
And we will do better. 

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This is the Shrouded Grouse, and here you’ll find supernatural short stories and novellas, essays and musings, zines, and illustrations that explore the liminal spaces and moody places.

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