Alas by V. Navarro

The last migration made
husks of us. Our bodies align with science books
no one can read. We track
our bloodlines but still lose species. Whole
generations born with gray mouths and bruise-blue
throats naked of feathers.
I remember my oldest
brother, volcano-figure. In this memory
he still has hands. When first I saw
this place, all the redwoods trembled, the night
rolled itself free like a tumbling mat.
And where have the gymnasts gone, their medals
of Paleolithic gold?

Someone hits the reset button, convinced
hollow-boned bodies will save us
from crashing.
My brother said the best part of the old world
was a song he could no longer remember. As he tried to say its name,
his eyes dulled and he flew from me.

By the end of the day,
even I will have forgotten me.


V. Navarro lives and works in Tampa, Florida where she studies writing and religion at the University of South Florida. Find her at Headshot by Stephen Zane.