The Intercollegiate Literary Magazine

As They Crumble

Bells as they clang to beat tanned skin and bones 

(ashes to ashes is all well and good)

Fear of the sun and a change in her tone

(not sure I get it, not sure I should)

Drum up discomfort and settle right in

(slip down the hatch to bury the hatchet)

Under the sand dunes comes one grisly grin

(hush all the children from making a racket)

Over the hills now but never the dale

(not even sure how far we can go)

Rocks as they crumble and shift into shale

(always astounded by how much can grow)

Back to the spaces, the spaces of solace

(red in my mouth from gritting my teeth)

Turning from burning and always from malice

(adjusting your face with a turn of the cheek)

Nesting right in—into the new setting

(foreign is new, not inherently bad)

Swivel my head and they’re already betting

(how long will it take to drive us all mad?)