top of page
Search
  • Writer's pictureJessica Lee McMillan

The Meteorite


Michael Eberth, Wikimedia Commons

Our room grew a hole when the sky landed by our heads and, when meteorite met bed of linen taut with our stereotypical tensions, the walls gasped for air

You and I roll out to satellite lives, discrete roles on a split screen, the obvious rock between when the ceiling leaks

If we point to the spot, camping out on the rock —make peace with a ceiling gaping absurd fate—can we laugh that our autopilot under this humdrum canopy was spiced up by space debris?



 

Published December 2021 in South Shore Review

28 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All
Post: Blog2_Post
bottom of page