On the day I bought a new bed I dreamed the world was ending.
Twice I slept and both times I dreamed the world was ending—
ending from what, I never knew, but we all agreed, this was it.
Chaos reigned;
People fled;
Our “retirement account,” like the stock market, was now only an idea.
I ran to my car to go for canned goods and seeds
But once underway I realized the trunk behind me was full of hot soup
And the driver’s seat in front of me held an old lady determined to deliver it
And I begged her—I begged her—to take me back so I could go buy food for my family.
For my baby.
“Let’s say you find this food,” she said, eyes on the road.
”What makes you think you will survive?”
I ignored the cruelty of the question.
”We still have time to put in a garden!”
“And then what?” she asked.
And then, we both well knew, someone would arrive from somewhere to kill us all for our spring peas.
She kept driving us both to the soup kitchen.
I woke up hungry.
And all day
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