In the middle of a snow-
strewn night, the first trumpet
sounded from every minaret,
lighthouse, and cell-phone tower,
every tall point across the earth.
I wrapped on a layer
of wool and a layer of joy,
and ran outside to see the spreading
dark-clouded apocalyptic sky.
Like Moses touching the
river with his staff,
I held out my sorrow
to the ice-expanse of sky
and the cosmos was transformed
into a terrifying elliptical shape.
Sensing the inevitable, I stepped in circles
waiting for my mother’s voice.
I waited to hear my name.
Sarah Yasin is a schoolteacher working in the state of Maine. Her non-creative writing has been published in Academia (a Journal for Academic Librarians), and publications from IGI.