LA FRONTERA
After his fifth failed prediction
of the end of the world
my brother stops answering
texts and calls. Somewhere
over the border in a dark
apartment with a microwave,
a tv, and windows overlooking
a town with hills, he sleeps
through sunrise.
He has covered the windows.
He is breathing–or not.
Talking to God–or not.
The world burns, yes.
We are on fire and drowning
at the same time. Every day
bombs burst bone and teeth.
Every day the temperature
rises. The ocean
spits us out. We ache
to be soft, to be forgiven.
He is right about that.