Red drips from the moon, like water off the glass
leaving wet rings on our moving box coffee table—I’ll buy a real one
in a week or two, sometime after I pay the internet bill.

According to the Bible, when the sixth seal opens
there will be a great Earthquake—the sun will blacken, the moon
will turn to blood. Yet, I sit here
watching droplets slip from the circular mouth
of a jelly jar turned rocks glass; water
pools on the cardboard table
before being sucked up
as if the stars were falling
to Earth—the vacuum of space
too tired to pull them back in.

I turn and ask if you see it too—waterspouts
twisting in my Strawberry Smirnoff,
mountains floating upward,
but your chair sits empty and I’m
on an island, uprooted.

Jessica Blandford graduated from the MFA program at Queens University of Charlotte in May of 2020. She was born and raised in the greater Grand Rapids area of mosquito riddled Michigan, the land of 1,000 lakes. When she isn’t writing Jessica can often be found riding old state highways on her motorcycle. On really nice days, she rides with her daughter, who often finds her way into being the center of Jessica’s world. Her work has appeared in HYYPE and Display Magazine and is often focused on the modern female perspective.