Kyla Guimaraes

The Apocalypse Is Almost Here, So We Do the Dishes

Hey, you.
I’ll miss this once it’s gone,
but it’s not gone yet,
so let’s pretend.
There is something coming,
and we are elbow-deep
in the sink. Water trickles in,
lukewarm. I turn on the tap
to make it rush.
Now that I know you,
how can I ever go back
to being alone?
When did I become willing
to fall in love?
The horizon thrums,
yawns, spits out
an answer. Like a label
printing machine.
There is an ending coming,
and you’re here
doing the dishes with me
in the final heave
of quiet afternoons.
As if this is enough
of an ending
to keep you satisfied.
Apocalypses
aren’t supposed to arrive
in the benign. I am trying
to stave it off as much
as can. I am trying to leave
the world living
the way I want to.
My forearms
awash in soap suds.
Your name
in my mouth.
I would do this all over
again, which doesn’t mean
anything special,
not at the end,
but I would.

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Kyla Guimaraes is a student and writer from New York City. Her work can be found in SUNHOUSE Literary, The Penn Review, HAD, Dishsoap Quarterly and elsewhere. Kyla is an alum of the Iowa Young Writers' Studio, a poetry editor at Eucalyptus Lit, and a poetry reader at Okay Donkey. In addition to writing, she likes puns and standing outside in the rain.