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the day the sun vanished
November 19, 2019
my sisters and I spin silks of willowy gold
as ruby rain raps on our windows and doors.
outside, streams of fairy dust glint and
recede, as if lured by two moons on
some damning escapade. we breathe
electric air, heavy with the vapors of a thousand
crimson wounds. draining down gutters
smudged to nothing, tears dance from the eyes
of a now vagrant people,
wash away a ruptured sky.
they told us, pray to the stars
when the orange dust doesn’t settle
but how can we? as crackling
comet storms carve trenches into
our dying cloud belt
© Olivia R., Christchurch, New Zealand
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