We have had plenty of warning about the bombs, we know they’re coming
we’ve made our peace with ourselves and our God as much as we possibly can
in the few minutes before the sirens begin to sound and the emergency broadcaster’s voice
cuts into the radio on every channel, but somewhere out there
is a tiny goldfinch clinging upside-down to a mock sunflower, blissfully flicking petals
to the ground in its search for seeds and gnats, somewhere, the twin tails
of pale green perch are gyrating just beneath the surface of a pond in a determined rut
somewhere, a lazy housecat is stretching out on the porch beneath the afternoon sun
eyes closed as it extends its claws before falling asleep, it’s all one last time
and they have no idea
why we’re sitting around the dinner table
hands clasped, lips tight, eyes locked on each other,
determined to make this tableau
the last thing we will ever see.
About:
Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in Analog SF,Cardinal Sins, and New Plains Review, and her published books include Music Theory for Dummies and Music Composition for Dummies. She currently teaches classes at The Loft Literary Center in Minnesota, Hugo House in Washington, and The Muse Writers Center in Virginia.
Illustration by Scalar Comet. Based on Original Photography by David C. Stephens via Flickr
