By Carol L. Gloor
It was ridiculous to write about sunsets
until I noticed the girl on the Chicago El,
the one with fingerless gloves
and five rings on her face, start snapping
photos with her cell phone.
Then all of us woke up,
closed books, laptops, folded newspapers,
and watched the tendrils of light climb our legs,
the spotlights of fire caress the half eaten
bag of Cheetos on the floor.
Our faces reddened.
We became a small congregation
with a secret new hymn:
we have seen the sky burn.
Copyright 2018 Gloor