Chernobyl in Fall

The same moon shines over most of Ukraine:

just as damaged

and as noble. The buildings here

are held together with rust

and moss creeps across the concrete.

Behind me are the soft pads

of foxes' feet on scattered leaves.

I am disintegrating.

I scatter skin cells and hair.

I spit, and the night spits back.

There are no stars.

The silhouettes of damaged homes

are human figures, slumped and shaking,

and in the distance Tower 4 hums softly.

I am cold

and the mosses reach

and the foxes turn and run.

For a while, nothing.

I am remembering

there are worse lives to be had.

I am realizing

there are better reasons to disappear.

• 
• 190 of 806
•