the prime minister was watching a disaster movie
when we found him. We are the
media we cried. Run.
The insiders ran around wildly looking for the exits.
On the face of the deep the ghosts of civilization wailed.
The shadow of a doubt dissolved,
everyone just trying to understand how what happened
happened. Figuring out how became the choicest
profession. Don’t misunderstand us-
we always obeyed the unwritten rules, we always respected
the number of minutes
allotted for the interview-always believed in the existence of
the singular reason
for the world’s incomprehensible
demise. It was not our job
to notice the rain
no longer fell,
we were busy tracking who was logging in and logging out
of the current war
while new faces of god made their appearances
behind our backs
as always.
We checked on our stringers.
We called in to get a reading on the deathwatch.
You’re breaking up.
can you give me 50 words
The calendar lit up
with the dates when each thing of value would
no longer exist.
We reported it
exactly,
the idea was to leave no trace in our language
of grief, regret,
despair. Not a trace of us
must remain.
But where can our lives be hidden we thought
as we hurried from telling to telling,
permeated with absence.
Then it began to close in all round us, the dry weather of
information.
Onc I looked up at the clouds as if I’d never felt wind before-
no it did not rain, but I
almost remembered the smell-
whose list are our names on-
we who have passes with access to all the realities-
when will the bullets cross through us–
we who mistake narrative
for history …
If there is peace we are less busy so not to be trusted.
Those of us whose wounds are still healing
will tell u that story
again & again.
The smell of a newborn escapes us.
the ozone approaching escapes us.
We are part of an occupation whose aims
escape us.
We do not wriet in order to remember.
Language flows through us-no angles, no corners, no
bends-never an
impasse. As for the past
that is not our business. The prime minister
is now hanging from his rope.
We must report the cries and the laughter, the mood of
the crowd. We never ask
about the strangeness.
But the strangeness is starting to stare at us.
It seems to seethe. We hurry to get it down.
And now it is eloquence which stares at us furiously.
Its gaze reminds us of something-
the scent of ozone rises-
there is thunder is there not-
it’s hard to know. We are on deadline.
the killing spree began
A Bleak vision of Rebirth: Analyzing a Poem from a Future World
The poem, published in the Atlantic‘s January 2026 issue, paints a chilling picture of a world undergoing catastrophic upheaval, yet clinging to a hope – however grim – of eventual renewal. It’s a work steeped in suffering, duty, and a haunting sense of inevitability. The speaker, seemingly a bureaucrat or official, details a reality defined by violence and loss, framed within a larger narrative of rebuilding.
The opening lines establish this duality: the promise of a “new world” built upon the ruins of the old. The imagery is stark. Cities will be rebuilt, but the land itself bears the scars of conflict – “drain[ing] the blood from the fields” before life can return with “grasses…grow[ing] into wind.” This isn’t a triumphant vision of progress, but a brutal, almost surgical process of recovery.The speaker acknowledges the inherent suffering, stating, “I know I speak of suffering I am supposed to speak of suffering.” This suggests a mandated role, a necessity to document the horrors even as thay unfold. The repeated phrase, “it is indeed always the threshold…,” implies a cyclical nature to this destruction and rebuilding, a perpetual state of transition.
The poem’s second section shifts to a more intimate, personal viewpoint. The speaker is immersed in the mundane – “bent over our notes, cleaning up our drafts” – while the encroaching twilight serves as a potent symbol of the pervasive violence. The twilight’s “long golden body” entering the house feels predatory, “lying in ambush.” This personification creates a sense of unease and vulnerability. The speaker’s reluctance to look, feeling the light “touching my neck, tapping my shoulder,” suggests a fear of confronting the reality of the situation. The light’s “voice moving too easily through the empty branches” hints at the omnipresence of death and destruction.
This personal struggle is juxtaposed with the speaker’s professional obligations. They envy the “poets who are free to cry out,” while they are bound by duty to finalize reports detailing the casualties of “incendiary devices.” The devastatingly understated line, “It is never many. It is meant to be none,” reveals the true horror of the situation. The intended outcome isn’t simply collateral damage, but complete annihilation. this suggests a ruthless, calculated campaign, perhaps a form of scorched-earth policy intended to clear the way for the “new world” mentioned earlier.
Context and Interpretation (as of November 2, 2023):
While the poem is presented as originating from January 2026, its themes resonate strongly with contemporary anxieties. The poem’s depiction of widespread destruction and a detached, bureaucratic response to human suffering can be interpreted through the lens of current global conflicts and the increasing use of automated warfare. https://www.un.org/en/global-issues/war-peace-and-security The idea of a “new world” built on devastation also echoes concerns about climate change and the potential for large-scale displacement and societal collapse. https://www.ipcc.ch/
The poem’s power lies in its ambiguity. It doesn’t explicitly state the cause of the destruction, allowing for multiple interpretations. However, the chilling efficiency and the stated intention of “none” surviving suggest a deliberate, systemic act of violence, rather than accidental consequences. The speaker’s internal conflict – the desire for emotional release versus the demands of duty – highlights the dehumanizing effects of war and the moral compromises required to participate in such a system.
The inclusion of a book proposal, Killing Spree by Joyce Carol Oates, further reinforces the poem’s themes of violence and its psychological impact.https://bookshop.org/a/12476/9780374618025
this poem is a haunting and unsettling vision of a future shaped by trauma and the challenging, perhaps impossible, task of rebuilding after unimaginable loss. It serves as a stark reminder of the human cost of conflict and the ethical dilemmas inherent in pursuing a “new world” at any price.