The sky
had been following us
for weeks.
My mother knew.
She extended a hand.
The clouds closed ranks.
I looked away
for one second.
When I looked back
there was less blue.
The sun left its red behind
and climbed the horizon.
My mother offered.
I asked,
what was missing.
She lowered her hand
and took us home.
We found a place
where the sky hung low.
My mother touched it.
Neither of us spoke.
My mother offered again.
The sky counted backwards
and I was young enough
to think
this happened all the time.
About the author:
Kristina Warlen writes literary and speculative fiction, poetry, and essays. Her work has appeared in multiple literary journals, anthologies, and mental health publications. She has received recognition in several writing contests and serves as a volunteer first reader for literary journals.
Photo by Alexandra Nicolae on Unsplash