The Mayans said it first, but
tea leaves said it second, her palm
said it third, and the boy
down the road, the one with the blue,
blue eyes, said it fourth.
The world was going to end and she
could not be happier.
Her affairs were easy to arrange:
money sealed into envelopes,
the microwave unplugged, and one
last kiss for the blue-eyed boy.
She called her mother,
and her mother did not answer.
(But she did not expect her to.)
That evening she hid beneath
a blanket with her dog and told stories
about the good times and the bad times
(but mostly the bad times, and how
now there would never have to be
bad times ever again).
Then she went to bed, heart lighter
than light, winged with hope,
and woke up crying.