I have started having dreams about the world ending.

The mechanics of the end are unclear, but we all know,
and we all must begin to say goodbye. My family is
together again and we are each embodying a different stage
of grief. I am always acceptance, begging to go around
in a circle and offer love, while from the ceiling falls
a thin strain of dust. Our game of Jenga is left unfinished.
Someone has smashed the TV. I think about how, when I
was a child, my parents told me that if a white butterfly
flew into my mouth, I would die. Even years later,
when I knew it wasn’t true, there was an instinctual
recoil, a clench of my jaw, when one came near. Now
I would open my mouth to anything living. There is
a low distant rumbling and a screech like a seabird.
I am on my knees trying to shake you from a dream.
I hope when the end comes it is soft and gentle,
a flurry of white wings in my mouth. I want to hear
you say you love me one last time.

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