Playing God

Lunen Ryba

dust ash,

in the corners of the house, where walls once stood proud,

we two watch:

don’t bother with the sweeping up; it’s all crumbling away now.

there are more important things, we know what to do,

like making promises we must keep,

hopeful pocket money purchases— the only thing we cling to—

everything will be alright. nothing has gone to plan but

we will make it alright. we must keep moving.

imagine: she comes back so wrong, we are

smiling, so arrogant;

she asks why we hurt her.

we’ve let the house go to ruins and soot.

to dust. there’s no turning back.