‘Meteor’ by Michael Ray
a week after my mother told me why
the dinosaurs had died
and how there came to be fields
of glass
I was the wardrobe
the hangers
the lifeless things transfixed
by his Cro-Magnon stare
an obsidian button
flying from her astrakhan coat
starring their reflection
in her mirror
my mother lying on the bed
him opening her coat
that woollen ocean
black and thick
with a thousand tiny flailing fists
From issue #7: autumn/winter 2018
About the Author
Michael Ray is a prizewinning poet and visual artist living in West Cork. His poems have been anthologized and have appeared in many journals including The Moth, The Shop, Cyphers, The Penny Dreadful, One, Southword, New Contrasts, The Stinging Fly, Ambit, Magma, Numero Cinq and The Well Review.
