Cities we raised in the wake of industry,
bowing to the gods Money and Progress,
taps spit
lead-tainted water.
Broken skulls,
jaws lolling open,
eternally poised to speak
but forever silenced,
roll like empty conch shells
on ocean beds,
tumble as if nodding a thousand times,
until they settle into sand.
Groves of trees grow
through empty government buildings,
their roots rise,
press marble to sink deeper into marsh,
their branches whisper to each other
the love poems
of a world without humans
long after we’re gone.

Chani Zwibel is a graduate of Agnes Scott College, a poet, wife and dog-mom who was born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, but now dwells in Marietta, Georgia. She enjoys writing poetry after nature walks and daydreaming. Read other articles by Chani.