Apocalypse Grieving

I am driving at night,

The highway deserted before me

Like a long, black ribbon.

I am driving, radio blaring 70’s hits, and

I am suddenly crying.

Again.

Crying again, crying without warning or reason.

I try to sing along with the radio, but my voice breaks and splinters

into a thousand separate bleeding wounds.

And I am driving, and crying,

and trying to sing,

Trying to squash the ache that starts in my throat,

Threatens to swallow me whole,

like the whale swallowed Jonah.

But I am not Jonah, I no longer believe in Jonah,

or Jesus,

Or God,

(though I do sometimes wonder about Job.)

There are no words in my tears,

Only the raw, desperate anguish

Of a forgotten, lost child.

And though I am not a child,

I grieve as a child: in pain, in desolation,

Heart shattering with

The utter terror of the abandoned.

I grieve like the end of the world.

Apocalypse grieving.

A heart so broken

It can destroy planets,

Supernova the sun,

Decimate the universe itself.

The song on the radio ends,

And just like that, my tears are gone,

As if they never existed.

And I am still driving, tears drying

On my cheeks,

The sun still shining

On the other side of the planet,

Heart beating slow and steady in my chest.

The black ribbon of highway

Stretched out in front of me.

I am driving,

And waiting for the next apocalypse