When the Smoke Clears

When the smoke clears. Lungs fill with lavender. Every breath sweeter than the next.

Pupils dilate. A heavenly quiet.

Look down. The ground is back!
Lush and firm.
The vines twisting up to meet your feet.
Look up!
The sky is pink and raining.
Stick out your tongue.
What do you taste?
Champagne? Pink lemonade?

Breath shallow. Light on your feet.

By Sara Annicellis

Featured in Basement Babes, Issue 13