Visual art by Jahaira Anaya There is an earthquake in her chest every time she exhales and you can feel it ruining you. You are slowly falling apart the gale force wind of each of her breaths widening cracks in your skull behind your ears And every time you hear her voice the aching in your chest can’t mean anything but your imminent demise and no one ever said it would hurt so much. But these are end times and all the rules are changing the beat of your heart is a time bomb and nothing is making contact clutching fingers and searching lips and there is no more air in your lungs or maybe we’re running out of oxygen. She digs her fingers into your hips as if she’s gonna tear you in two and you could almost believe it so maybe the thing to do is curl your fingers around the curve of her jaw and hold on until the tremors stop.
Amalia Bowen-Sicalides’s poem “Apocalypse” deals with an apocalypse of the heart.