After our fight, I go for a drive
through the drought-stricken night,
stricken with how far we’ve come
to ruin our love, how we evolved
from monkeys to become monkeys
biting each other’s throats. I want to ask the moon
for help, but its light is wilted from heatstroke.
What makes us forget that we are each other’s planet
on our only planet? I park by the creek that’s only a trickle.
What will we finally do with all the cars when the rivers
are dark scars, what are we doing,
I say when I get home, you standing at the door,
your sad face looking into mine, the moon
looking down on us, tearless.
This poem first appeared in Five Points: A Journal of Literature and Art.
—
Susan Browne is the author of Buddha’s Dogs, Zephyr, and Just Living. Her fourth poetry collection, Monster Mash, is forthcoming from Four Way Books in 2025. Awards include prizes from Four Way Books, the Catamaran Poetry Prize and the James Dickey Poetry Prize. She lives in Northern California where she teaches poetry workshops online. www.susanbrownepoems.com
