We ignored bad omens—Lynn Finger

like raining frogs & dead crickets, 
argued that morning, & baby 
poured soup in her hair.  

You said I’m down to the pier, 
don’t like this stuffy house, 
& I said, when are you 

coming back? & then 
a blanket of ash & gravel 
choked us. We were jammed

together on the floor 
& found later in puzzle 
pieces, stiff & covered 

in crap. & if we had known 
we could go that quick, 
we would have done 

that morning differently, 
skipped breakfast, walked 
to the ocean, watched 

pink starfish in tidepools 
& sat together with warm arms 
touching, heartbeats synced. 

& how I would have loved 
to watch the grey ferocious 
tidal wave come in, 

like I had created this last 
spectacular vision just 
for us. Don’t screw 

with my memories. 
It happened. Let the last 
minnows fall from 

the sky like hopeless confetti, 
too jagged & sad to know 
what they’re even doing.

Lynn Finger’s poetry has appeared in 8Poems, Perhappened, Wrongdoing Magazine, Twin Pies, Book of Matches, Drunk Monkeys and Corporeal Lit. Lynn is an editor at Harpy Hybrid Review and works with a group, “Free Time,” that mentors writers in prison. Follow Lynn on Twitter @sweetfirefly2.

photo by Nenad Spasojevic (via unsplash)