In the Last Twenty-Four Hours by Christofer Oberst

“I keep wondering if it will rain. The sky darkens. There is thunder. -- Mark Strand,
The Dreadful Has Already Happened"

Inspired by: Mark Strand Pebbles of ice fall from the sky, plunging into the soggy earth
like comets from deep space. My daughter watches safely behind her window
propping her head on her palms as she waits to make her wish. I sit and listen. Rumbles in the distance, downdrafts flocking toward the perfect storm.

A slender tree bends and stirs in the face of the wind. Its branches break, scattering twigs and damp leaves along its roots. Wisps of mist trail
along the pavement. The newscaster on the radio is telling us to stay indoors. There are whispers that it is the end of the world.

The dog covers his head under the blankets. The teacups rattle on her pink table. “When will it end?" she says. “… when it ends,-- I hear the newscaster say.

Bellows of thunder drum above our heads. I sip a stale cup of coffee.
Stones of ice splinter into twos and threes.

The grass is littered with ice like freshly fallen snow. Lethargic clouds separate. I think of a never-ending winter, encasing us all in a glazed glass box; never knowing what’s left but a girl, a dog, a man. “Make your wish," I say.
She closes her eyes. I watch and wait, hoping to catch some semblance of peace.

Christofer Oberst 30 April 2013

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