Photography © Chad Parenteau
Shortly Before What Feels Like the End of the World
After Abby E. Murray
Shortly before what feels like the end of the world
our president pardons insurrectionists, spews tirades
of hateful messages dividing our country further
from each other and our allies.
Under his orders, sycophants drop bombs on children,
brutalize immigrant families, lock them up with foul food
and shoddy medical care, pour poisons into our water
and air. They tear down pride flags, wipe diversity and truth
from our schools, books and monuments. Sabotage
research and healthcare. They desecrate our country’s capital,
its buildings and traditions, tear gas and murder
legal protestors on our nation’s streets.
Meanwhile, a late May rain marches in like stormtroopers
on a beach, a meteor explodes off Cape Cod Bay shaking
homes, trees, pets and people’s nerves. Surely, this is what
it feels like at the end of the world.
Shortly before what feels like the end of the world
the sun makes a splashy entrance, robins flit about. I sit,
sipping coffee, watch them peck at soil and sod.
A hummingbird drinks from wild geraniums.
I plant purple angelface and orange marigolds, weed
the rock garden and uncover patio furniture, decide to learn
Spanish, finish one novel and pick another.
Begin this poem.
Laurie Rosen is a lifelong New Englander who splits her time between the MA coast and a hollow in central VT. Her poetry has appeared in One Art, Gyroscope Review, Oddball Magazine, The New Verse News, The Inquisitive Eater: New School Food, Zig Zag Lit Mag, and elsewhere. Laurie was nominated for a 2025 Pushcart Prize.
Chad Parenteau is Associate Editor of Oddball Magazine.