by Katie Kemple
These days, nothing is certain anymorea President incites an insurrection, to stop Congress from certifying his loss, my daughter becomes my son, changingshe to he, declaring their birth namedead, another rising up from the flames, and I wake at 1am to watch blinking lights from devices suck dinosaur corpses from their electric arteries. Are we paying our financial advisor too high a percentage? Will we be working up to our deaths?Cancer could be carving our bodies up already, tyrannosaurus steaks, we are impossible burgers, raw. This screen burns my eyes. Nothing is impossible now. I will wake up tomorrow with nothing. I will wake up tomorrow, a billionaire. I will wake up tomorrow, put on socks and make coffee. I will wake up tomorrow, and buy my son the long skirts he has requested. I will wake up tomorrow, and fire my financial advisor. I will wake up tomorrow and wonder if the new President can hold us all together. How long? In my last will and testament, I am cremated. Nothing is together, it’s not impossible, our ashes will fly.