Portent
by J.L. Conrad
The meteor throws its weight against the atmosphere. As if someone lit magnesium on fire, only brighter than any day you have ever seen. There is not yet a name for this. Across five states, people come out of their houses to stare. I thought a transformer blew one says. I didn’t worry. The police lines are deluged with calls. They have nothing to say in return. Reports come in of babies arriving early, cows that cannot be righted, a mouse with two heads. The good news is our dog comes home again: a little worse for the wear, bedraggled and somewhat apologetic although her tail cannot stop wagging.