by Felix Jung

When the winds kick, my stomach
falls as if to clutch the ground. I look
around for trees to grab, a signpost
I can cling to. Mary Poppins used

the air to float about, but what became
of all those nannies? When the gusts
grow strong, I think of them: flailing
arms, loose black dresses flapping

like sails. Should the Rapture come
to take us, half the world will rise
and meet it. The other half, half-
afraid like me, will swim back down

to land saying No, not yet. Not
me. I’m a sinner, a sinner.

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