Some say the Library of Alexandria

went up like tufts of cannabis that

choked the city with pale blue smoke.

Some saw me there, holding a torch.

Some say the walls of Constantinople

fell down with a whimper, not a bang,

a crumbling from within as well without.

Some say I was there, holding the door.

Some say that when the people rose up,

the last of the true Kings & Queens died.

They were wrong. Their descendants arose;

some say they left behind long shadows.

Some say that when the Great Wall shattered,

it broke to the thunder of thousands of feet

dancing in spite over their own graves.

Some say they saw me picking the rubble.

Some say that the world will end in a haze,

of days past & yet, forgotten & dreamt,

& some say that when the stars decay,

you’ll see me there winking them out.



                                                                  
ANJA KIDD is a non-degree seeking sophomore. Anja lives in Eagle River, where she quietly tends a garden when not fending off the snow. She writes when it strikes her.