a plane hits the mountainside – Michael McSweeney

September 24, 2025

no rain for weeks & then a plane hits the mountain outside Fallston the air clenches & breaks the jaws of my windows my dying cat hides beneath the bed for the rest of his cautious life fuel glazes the grass & road like volcanic syrup the dead stream down the mountainside as ambulances flash across a flattened cornfield my unlocked door promises a few more quiet moments the dead pick dried blood from their ears & flick scarlet flakes on the kitchen floor everyone asks for water I run out of cups as the help arrives the medics lead the dead away in ones & twos a man in his early 30’s touches my hand & tells me We Were So Close To Boston I Want To See My Daughter I Need To See My Daughter a cop scratches his face & asks if I saw the plane crash I tell the cop no but the truth is I watched the whole apocalyptic millisecond & it felt like a normal Tuesday tragedy I find a dead boy in the closet he begs me Don’t Tell Them I’m Here I’m Not Ready To Go Yet I tell the boy Okay his eyes disturb me sockets shorn bare by an engineburst firemauled skin stretched into a scythe of fear I hide in the bathroom & wait until the backdoor whimpers then listen through the thunder-splintered panes of glass while the boy circles the blackened yard & moans for home his death so small & everyday.