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 º 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