The Sky is Falling Tonight

The sky is falling tonight.
My toes curl inward
as I finish off a cigarette
and flick it to the street corner.
Looks like it might rain.
I bite my lip and taste metal.
A car rolls by with the windows
down and a tanned arm
hanging out the side.

My granddaddy once said
that on the very last day
no one will cry except the earth itself.
I can't hear a thing,
but I smell gasoline and regret.
My granddaddy's tombstone
once had a lipstick stain on it
from where my grandmamma
kissed him goodbye.
I won't even have a tombstone.

The playground is vacant,
the swings rocking in the subtle wind
as if carrying invisible children.
The dirt ground below
dips into a concave bowl.
I wonder if
the thumb of Gob pressed it in.

The clouds are charcoal black
and it occurs to me for the first time
that I will die alone.
I hug myself.
A serpentine chill slithers up my back.
But then I realize—
everyone will die alone.
The end will find us all
warped and withered
with nothing left but those fears
we spent our whole lives running from.

It will find us with only ourselves
left to lose.

The sky is falling tonight,
and there's no place I'd rather be but here.