Dear End Times,

By Kerry Kurdziel

The surcharge for being alive 
has risen again. The bells won’t stop 
weeping. We keep sinking 
each other and calling it 
tragedy - 

the a of it barely hooks 
to the back of our throats 
before we release it 
again. Can you hear our abandoning? 
Is that it? I know, I know - 
We have put the sphinx 
on a key chain. 

Wait. Count the rivulets. 
There are days when the sky is shock blue and there is only expanse and
nothing is being sold to you while the nectarine sighs away from its pit in a
beckoning towards God and then sleep comes without medication,
without warning like a reverse conjuring. The air, for a moment, unspools
from what we’ve thrown into it.

Kerry Kurdziel is a poet currently living in the Greater Boston area. Her work is forthcoming in Bear Review and Euphony Journal. Kerry writes about the strangeness of modern life, interiority, and memory. When she is not writing, you can find Kerry trying her hand at woodworking or going to an ABBA cover band concert.