I saw you in those wrecked hills
jigging shaggy-kneed, high-stepping through the scree 
and I heard your pipe song echoed in the culvert
I saw you splashing through the river of run-off and factory froth

And you saw us reaching through each other
In a car in a frozen and darkened parking lot
The wind swung, the burnt pines swung-

brother in the muck, saying no
crawl out of your bomb shelter
You have not earned your apocalypse yet
take your fifty pounds of dry beans to feed someone hungry
take the body that still breaths to dance

[Elizabeth Wing is an incoming MFA Candidate and Instructor at UMass Amherst. Her recent work has appeared in venues such as The Rebis, The Washington Square Review, and Mudroom Magazine.]