The Broadcast
We listened to the broadcast for days 
until the wave came 
and smeared the city like rough paste across the land 

Only the smallest creatures came crawling from the wreckage 
and the smell of broken 
fish hung in the air 

Basements filled with sand and sodden kelp and inside
the dense mass 
two pink and folded children lay still as rags


When they uncover them some hundred years from now 
they will try to make sense 
of how we interred our young

They will chisel them loose 
and thunk the fossilized knots into numbered bins 
to be housed in archival storage

The dense and ossified coils 
will defy anything equating song
alongside the artifacts of less predictable people
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