End Times
When the preacher said rapture,
she thought of the bird on the fence,
how his feathered red tail splayed
to balance his swaying weight,
how his fierce amber eyes swept
the grass below, his shrill call making
her heart lurch like a hare seeking its hole,
and she whispered a prayer:
Lord, Lord, when the raptor comes,
please let me be left behind.
~
Jane Sasser was born and raised in Fairview, North Carolina. Her poetry has appeared in The Atlanta Review, The North American Review, The Sun, Appalachian Heritage, and other anthologies and publications. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks, Recollecting the Snow (March Street Press, 2008) and Itinerant (Finishing Line, 2009). Jane has been a frequent contributor to Still: The Journal. She lives in Oak Ridge, Tennessee.
~
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