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April 2019 Vol. 15 No. 1

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Renée Owen

Nothing Matters Now

Not the overdue errands, or the rhetoric of presidents. Not the closets bulging with clothes, the paintings once brightening walls, baskets stuffed with soft towels or the tiny drawers filled with her bangles. Not the overflowing inbox, the blink of a computer’s green lights, or pings from a text. Not even the walls, stout and strong as we once imagined, or the roof, that last membrane separating us from the heavens. All that is gone. As flames rush down hillsides and smoke obscures sight, an inferno rages around them. As they jump in the pool. As he holds her in his arms, as the hours pass. As the chill night and chlorine-filled water overtakes her. Nothing else matters.

hawking hour
charred paper fragments
drift on the wind