In Memory of Emzara

By Fiora Elbers-Tibbits

The world is ending soon, my love. In two

days’ time, tectonic plates will chatter teeth,

collide, muss up the golden mean, imbue

God’s weariness with fractures underneath

the sinking sea. I want to take an old

approach—dear Noah and his ark, infused

with elements of television: bold

and artificial roses grown, tokens used

to pair off passersby whose urge to pro-

create ensures our race’s breath. Relieve

me, knead me, slip and drag me into co-

existence. Skip the rite, forget to grieve.

Ignore the trembling ground and seizing foam;

I’m waiting in an empty house, alone.