Today's poem is by Wendy Wisner

Dream of the End of The World
       

The children were separated from their parents,
and everyone wore numbers on their shirts,
like football jerseys. You and I

rode the train, looking for our kids.
We ducked behind a brown leather seat,
hiding from the pop pop pop of bullets

or cars backfiring—it was impossible to know.
The train swerved on its tracks,
our numbered shirts softly touching.

When the dream was over, I got out of bed,
peed, blew my nose, then tossed and turned
while both our living, breathing children

lay sleeping beside me. In the morning,
packing lunches, mixing water
into oatmeal, I felt solace knowing the earth

hadn't been engulfed in gas and flame
as I usually imagine the end of the world.
You kissed me on the mouth

and something like relief flooded
my body because the end of the world was over
for now. We could take our kids

to school and only worry about normal things:
if they'd listen in class, be kind, stand up for justice,
not get shot, tackle the shooter, become a hero.

Copyright © 2025 Wendy Wisner All rights reserved
from The New Life
Cornerstone Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission