Some of Us Were Eloi, But...

The clocks were in our blood,
dormant or ticking so slowly
no one person was around long enough
to hear them strike.

 As we sent timely samples
to dating sites, they in turn
called us larks and owls, introduced
us to other symmetrical birds

and somewhere a line was crossed
and the mass of humanity split
in a meiotic unraveling.

The media exaggerated, but more
than basement rentals and heavy curtains
happened to us, and I haven't seen my ex's
mother though we used to swap nods
at the library where I'd grab new books
after my third shift job at the drill factory.

It was a slower cleave than that,
teaching algorithms to hear
the distant tolls of our genes.

More curtains go up every year
on the level of the worms and sprouts
and I hardly ever see my ex's brother
sweating his condescension or lust on me.

One chime will echo straight down,
lava cleansing all the fungal caves,
talus, sinkhole and gulch,
ringing down the forks
oil men drove into the sea.

 I hope it goes deeper,
deep as the gears inside my spirals.

---

Amelia Gorman lives in Eureka, California where she loves to explore tidepools and redwood forests with her dogs and foster dogs. Her first chapbook, "Field Guide to Invasive Species of Minnesota" is forthcoming from Interstellar Flight Press in 2021.