UnEarth Magazine.

Words by Wallis Brune, art by Julia St John.

I

The day the sun went red was Afternoon-like 
any  

It was SUV suburbia  
radio ads and 
Eliza, uniformed pink, 
lunchbox-ed  
and little hands canvased colourful. 

Afternoon-like 
any 
smog blurred like bad vision,  
and we just watched.  

It was like  
Sunset,  
Except the blue didn’t fade out slow as it does, 
Because there wasn’t any blue to begin with, 
And because it was afternoon. 

Eliza asked if it would hurt her–the sun–if it could reach. She asked as we watched. 

I didn’t have the heart to tell her we were already in flames.  

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II

There’s not a poem to write 
not above all this TV static 
amidst all this loss 
contra to that technosolution groupthink and  
next to those #LOVEYOURMOTHER bumper stickers.  

Mom says I’m flippant with my future 
Like how I spend all my savings- 
how I say it’s because I don’t plot my tomorrows 
Which is maybe why my joy always feels like rebellion 
Why it always feels like guilt. 

I can’t keep pretending I don’t notice 
when the side of a house scrapes against my face, 
Because I do,  
But I’m not sure what to say because everyone seems to be moving the same  
and I’m not sure if I’m allowed to scream 

THE CATS AND DOGS  
ACTUALLY HAVE  
BECOME RAIN.