Salt Water

The prophets railed about the coming tides in Kyoto.  The air thickened and skiers tumbled into a sudden crevasse.  In Rio, the Redeemer wept.  Circling storms swamped the deltas, and the impromptu navy had to turn back to save themselves.  Glasgow toasted itself with sulfate-free wines flown in from the four humid, peeling corners of the globe.  Now sirens scream as thunderheads encircle my teardrop isle.  I recall from my cool school days a question about the world ending in fire or ice.  I know now the answer is primordial salt water, reclaiming a race that subverted its own escape.



Linda McMullen is a wife, mother, daughter, diplomat, and homesick Wisconsinite. Her short stories and the occasional poem have appeared in over one hundred fifty literary magazines. She may be found on Twitter: @LindaCMcMullen. 


Edited for Unlikely by Jonathan Penton, Editor-in-Chief
Last revised on Sunday, October 23, 2022 - 22:14