after the apocalypse

Photo of trees at golden hour

excuse me for humming a
little louder to fill in
for the missing birds.
the morning air begging
for a response. me,
off pitch. foraging
for notes. now
forgetting their songs.
remind me
to search the archives
for sheet music.

and excuse them for leaving
this world and nesting
on a distant
orb with canopies
stretching over promise
and tangles of grass
rife with notes that some
day may travel back to us
codas of grace to be pulled
from the wreckage of our



Poem by anne richardson

anne richardson is a poet, chaplain, spiritual companion, labyrinth facilitator, and Reiki master and believes everyone’s story is sacred. She finds her poetic voice in listening to trees, birds, rocks, streams, and all that dwells in the natural world. Passionate about grief, loss, life transitions and dwelling in thresholds, she offers reflections on her website, to share her insights, often calling on the natural world for wisdom. She has been published in VoiceCatcher and previously in Tiny Seed Literary Journal blog and their recent Forest Anthology.