Through the hum

came the smoke, the flash drought, the heat, wide papery leaves flapping above the lake, bleached-pink poppy. Came the nondisclosure agreements and the nondisclosed threat of the lake our life draining away. Came lies. Shrugs. Ash. The lake turned over, bit ankles, bit shins. The year’s weed a tall thin blade. Tiny red bugs. Fat gray bugs. Cigarette filters eternal. How could they outlast the rocks? They’ll outlast the rocks. They’ll splay and gather, a soft white beach filtering nothing, remembering spit and lipstick.

Written after the randomly selected line “through the hum of the background noise” from Gertrude Stein: An Afterlife by Francesca Wade.