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"It’s On Its Way To Me Now" by Melissa Bernal Austin



It’s nighttime, and I sit wondering 

if I might be serial killered out here 

in my own backyard.

It’s unlikely, I know. So 

I remind myself, and then 

try to fashion out of this shield

a bunker, or a boat, or just a bigger shield.


I think I’m really sad 

and the strange night bird is whortling 

like a cartoon version of itself 

in this world that feels too real to be real.

And yet, tomorrow is trash day.  Rent is due. 

I have to remember to defrost the chicken. 

Because I am still 

alarmingly alive, while more of this world

will disappear tomorrow. 


My cat is at the window looking out, 

his paw holding down the blinds, 

which he knows is not allowed, and his face

is so excruciatingly sweet, I laugh

because no one is seeing this

but me, and maybe the feral cat on the shed roof,

and maybe the cartoon night bird. 


If I screamed right now, maybe they would join.

And more and more 

would open their throats and scream 

and it would travel around the world. 

And maybe it’s already begun in some other throat, 

and it’s on its way to me now. I’m ready 


for that ecstatic choir of screams to lend my voice to. 

For seeing my parents alive until they’re old. 

For a love that feels safe.

Feral animals welcoming me to their home. 

And justice. Or vengeance. Or

maybe a god holding justice and vengeance 

behind their back, and saying “Pick a hand,”

and I say, “Right! No, left!” 

And we laugh and laugh.

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