After the Meteor
The ash settled in our lungs, began to bruise and conquer
thick as used up coffee grounds.
We start again microscopic
learning to breathe in rooms on fire, the air chloroform-soaked
and held to our faces with newspaper shreds,
not the funnys either though they laugh.
What God built in seven days he smashed to bits in eight.
The meteorologists saw it coming for months,
but were mistaken for street preachers
and no one would look at them except in their peripherals.
So we chew on muzzles and spit out the bones,
use them to fertilize our sprouting from the cement
they lay on the continental waist, a chastity belt.
We are the kudzu that grows back after the cutting.
It wasn’t a punch, but a firework to a wall.
Annalee Eagerton is an aspiring poet located in Kennesaw, Georgia. She pursues a Bachelor of Arts in English, as well as a minor in Film Studies, at Kennesaw State University, beginning in the fall of 2013. Her interests lie heavily in studying American literature and poetry. In addition to publishing her own poetry, Ms. Eagerton aims to one day become an editor for a literary magazine and be involved in both sides of the publishing process. Her work has been featured in Exhume Literary Journal.