The Last Girl on Earth
Oh dear, I say.
For I seem to have misplaced
as I stand over a sink washing paint brushes.
Oh the day was short, and my creative fervor bright,
and as I spent my day scribbling into the night,
I looked up to find
that my mother had gone to work,
my father had gone to the neighbor’s,
and my brother and sister were already in their rooms
And it is here, in such a lonely house,
that I feel like the last girl on Earth–
working tirelessly, diligently,
to plant seeds that will grow in a sun
that someday may or may not decide not to come.
But just like these paint brushes,
I will dry my eyes
with the knowledge that I will see tomorrow rise.
I am only afraid
that someday, I’ll look up
and realize that I truly am