Love, Under a Falling Sky

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.

[Purchase Issue 19 here.]

Love, Under a Falling Sky

Related Posts

KENDRA GREENE

Writers on Writing: A. Kendra Greene

A. KENDRA GREENE
Certainly, it was irresistible to try to write about becoming an “upright member in good standing,” but it dawned on me slowly that this was an essay leveraging foreignness and transition to talk about the weirdness of the domestic sphere.

Growing up

November 2020 Poetry Feature: David Lehman

DAVID LEHMAN
Science explained everything, / the workings of windshield wipers, for example: / “The darkness causes the rain / and comes from the rain, which goes up / to the sky and falls down again / on the windshield and the windows.

Portuguese Restaurant

Islanders

SCOTT LAUGHLIN
I welcome this attitude because it shows they don’t care about me or my tourist dollars. The massive influx of foreign dollars that floated the Portuguese economy but threatened local ways of life in Lisbon… I am grateful to be here, tucked away. I take the menu and try to read…