Prizewinners of the Apocalypse
       

Men entered my city bearing torches, chanting vengeance,
for acts no one had committed against them.
Carrying torches they circled statues of Confederate generals.
I wanted to find human ground,
but the town was the only town where I lived.

Men entered my country carrying slogans,
hating anyone whose skin wasn't pale,
marching as they vowed to save America.
I wasn't sure what America is, or was.
But I knew they were saving no one.
I slept fitfully, always ready to run
if they converged on my own door
noticing my language wasn't theirs.

I wanted to find a place to be calm
but my country was the only country where I was born,
the house the only house I own,
walls fraying in disrepair, yard tugged by forest's feral animals.

In my country, they locked children in hard rooms
to save what they called the law. I know
what they did to those children
and it will never heal.
But my country is my country still
so I will vote them out.

Early morning dreams, I see these slender horses,
translucent, the color of dawn sky
flickering and wavering
and I don't know what is coming
but I know the prize
of the apocalypse varies according
to which book you read, which deity you worship.

And you are gone, Sage Smith,
vanished. Your city bereft.

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Copyright © 2022 Claire Millikin All rights reserved
from Dolls
2Leaf Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission