Logan Pritchard

The mirror on my bookshelf is angled so that, if I don’t stand just in front of it,
I’ll never see more than the ceiling. I don’t know
Why I tilted it like that, only that I like the way it shines when
The light casts over it.
I used to have a mirror on the wall across from my bed, and it would wake me when
The sun rose and gleamed through the window.
The mirror’s not there anymore, and the mornings are dark these days.
I drive to school with my brother,
Who sleeps against the window,
The radio turned up just loud enough that I don’t fall asleep.
What I wouldn’t give to fall asleep.
The bees are dying.
I’m pretty sure we’ve all heard it by now, and I know
That it’s been years since I was actually stung.
I’ve heard that it’s a sign. That soon we’ll be dying
And the earth can’t take much more of our mistakes.
But then, we know apocalypses. The End is the stuff
Of movies and books and superstition that we all half
Believe, and just yesterday I had yet another
Long discussion with my brother
About the zombie apocalypse, and half
Of me knows it’s all conjecture, and yet
The other wonders what if?
I know, I know.
It’s ridiculous. But I come from a generation yet
To know true peace, and considering how the days
All seem to start with dark mornings, we all are learning.
Look, I am terrified of the world as it is.
There is darkness, and corruption, and
Prejudice, and These were the elements
I have grown in. What is
May not be what will be, (and
Thank whatever may be real for that)
And it is this hope that builds futures.