the rapture is upon us
BY Stephanie Warner
Illustration by Heather Horton
today i saw a crow
pry a windshield wiper
off a car in the wal-mart
parking lot, and
fly away with it over the
power lines, past the
scowling sun.
later on,
walking down the leaf-blown
street past the graveyard,
I saw a sparrow drop dead
out of the sky in front me.
i examined it, marvelling at the
brilliant yellow of its splayed legs—
perhaps the rapture is upon us.
at night, my dream—
i fly over sparkling vancouver,
through fog and rich industrial
pollution. the damp is seeping
through my flimsy nightgown.
my arms are white and bloodless.
flying dreams are supposed to
be buoyant, filled with the light
that shines through your eyelids
in alberta, but I’m miserable.
i become heavier and heavier with it—
perhaps you are familiar with the
game where your friend pretends to
slice open your belly, dumps sand and
lead filings into your gut, as you lie
smelling the freshly mowed lawn,
his fingers pinching stitches into your
skin. he’s right, you cannot get up,
too heavy—
it’s like that, but i’m being filled by
woes. my crow flies by with the
windshield wiper and the entire car
attached to it.
i fall bloated into the grid
of humming city lights.
