By MEGAN PINTO
Say Chicken Little was right, that the sky
is falling. What I want to know is,
will the moon fall too? Will it bounce softly
like swiss cheese, or will it crumble
like a stale cookie? Do skies bruise?
Do they ache? And is the sky
a metaphor for all the ills and evils
of the world? A testament
to how the earth can only hold so much
pain and grief? But why
would God send a chicken? Would you listen
to a chicken? Is the chicken a metaphor
for Jesus? Did the Bible mention this
and somehow I missed it? Is this because
in 6th grade my teacher made me promise Jesus
my virginity in a gift basket? Actually, if the sky falls,
could we see God? Should we be afraid? Aren’t people
already afraid? Isn’t that why people
are loving on ration, and why as a child
I was told to think before I touched,
as if touching was not its own way
of thinking? When I kiss you,
your tongue undoes reason.
Megan Pinto’s poems can be found or are forthcoming in Ploughshares, Meridian, The Cortland Review, and elsewhere. She has received scholarships from Bread Loaf and the Port Townsend Writers Conference, and an Amy Award from Poets & Writers. She holds an MFA in poetry from Warren Wilson College.
