COLOR OF SKY, PRE-APOCALYPSE
beth thomas
The savages are cutting off the heads of males. They are plucking men and boys from the crowd but no one runs. We are too enthralled to run. Rapt, we are simply waiting.
In the back of the field, I shield my eyes from the sun. The sky is pink. I revel in the safety of womanhood. My baby cries and I offer him a breast. When he falls asleep, I fold him up and put him in my rucksack.
Shhhh, I say, swaying. No one will know you are here.
Beth Thomas
winterintheblood@yahoo.com
A Peculiar Feeling of Restlessness
Amy Clark, Elizabeth Ellen, Kathy Fish, Claudia Smith