Today is a butcher

lopping off limbs.

 

Today

the ground produces lightning

to vibrate the sky.

 

Rabbits explode on the prairie crest.

The horror is the horror now.

 

How do I tell my child the sky will fall?

Right on his soft head.

Not like whipped

cream, not like oil, not like cartoon anvil.

 

The sky will fall like sky falling.

He will wake up tomorrow, or tomorrow’s

tomorrow, surrounded by sky.

When he

jumps out of bed

he will drop

and keep on

dropping.

 

What do you say to a child who is

falling:

 

I will be lightning

with little thunder

 

 

korbDouglas Korb is the author of the prize-winning chapbook, The Cut Worm, and his poems have appeared in or are forthcoming from The Frank Martin Review, Dialogist, Oxford Magazine, NOӦ Journal, Tupelo Quarterly, Hobart, Versal, Barrelhouse, Spork, RHINO, Poet Lore,5AM and elsewhere. He is currently on the board of directors for the Collected Poets Series in Shelburne Falls, MA. You can view his mixed medium erasures online at www.brokarthere.wordpress.com

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