choose a flattering neckline.
Ash is falling, yes,
but there is no reason
to make a scene.
In the final days,
hemlines should remain respectful.
No one wants to see desperation
displayed above the knee.
Should the oceans climb the stairs,
the power grid fail,
or the birds drop from telephone wires
like black punctuation,
take a moment before evacuating
to ask yourself
what message this outfit sends.
Smoke can be terribly aging.
Try not to squint.
When fleeing the blast radius,
select sensible shoes.
Something that says
"I may be outrunning catastrophe,
but I was raised properly."
In the event your rights
are stripped for parts
and sold back to you
as tradition,
avoid clashing accessories.
A woman should be many things
at the end of the world.
Thin enough to disappear
into the smoke,
warm enough to shelter others,
soft enough not to frighten the men
still calling any broad-shouldered shadow
against the fire
leadership.
Should your house collapse,
exit gracefully.
Should your country do the same,
avoid language
that could make dinner awkward.
When men in expensive suits
set the future on fire
and ask for patience
while it burns,
under no circumstances
should you look angry.
Keep your mouth pleasant
while stitching the torn hem
of one more century
ripped open by men
who mistook dominance
for vision.
Stand nicely
at the edge of the crater.
Smooth your skirt.
Tuck one loose strand
behind your ear.
Thank everyone for their concern.
Fold your terror
into smaller shapes.
Call it grace,
that ancient instruction
to look lovely
beside the wreckage.
When dragging the living
out of the blaze,
bend at the knees.
Should someone's blood
soak through your skirt,
turn the stain
away from the cameras.
The men responsible
are coming down
to inspect the damage.
Wipe your hands
before shaking theirs.
- Threads user
