Mesa Verde

Their pueblo palaces
climb to canyon ceilings
where paleo campfire
left blackened stone.
Kivas dug into earth
bury forgotten gods
but stars they worshiped
still hang in the sky.
For hundreds of years,
they lived on cliff edges
until they disappeared.
No footsteps left

Our world will not end
with a bang.
Our world will not end
with a whimper.
Our world will end
with scorching heat
with drought and famine
with our tribal children
sinking in sun shadows,
leaving all that they loved

-Brendan Praniewicz

I am an English Instructor who teaches at Grossmont College. I’m also a writer and a comedian.

1 Comment

  1. Beautiful and so relevant. Thank you for publishing such a thoughtful poem.

    Claire Hsu Accomando, writer

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