I tell JP we need to find a doctor
for the commune. I discuss with Amy where
we should look for a plot of land.

I bookmark a podcast entitled “Breaking
Down: Collapse.” I grow herbs. This year, maybe
tomatoes. This year, maybe I bring the tomatoes

to my neighbors, whose names I do not yet know.
I consider a retirement plan that does not
involve retirement. I witness the last gasps

of the American dream, take off its mask.
I am not surprised when I find only ash
behind it. I Google “how to sew on a button.”

I befriend the darkest shades
of humor. I sign up for the wilderness
first aid course with the CPR training.

Buy extra dehydrated food.
I realize that for us to get out of this
alive, many comforts will have to die. For us

to get out alive, many beloved will not.
I promise Kate that if we survive this, we will
plant pole beans. We will watch them learn

the language of sky; we will watch them grow
taller than the children. Some of us will still be
having children.

~

Lisa Criswell (she/her) is a poet and psychologist living in the foothills of the Cascades.  Her poetry, which explores longing, spirituality, and the natural world, has appeared in Pile Press, Tabula Rasa Review, and Free Verse Revolution, among others. When she is not working on her forthcoming chapbook, you can often find her miles deep into the backcountry.