The Last Hour of August
Under sprinklers spackling the stars a blurry brown we slip, flat on our tailbones, the bones that once made us lizard-chickens. I love to hear her laugh and win the race to the car because I bet she will not want to leave this Corolla called earth just yet. She will be here another hour or more before the day I cower from under covers comes. The day she becomes my angel and my cartoon raincloud forever.
The evening belongs to us and the paper bags of the Arby’s parking lot. Nevertheless it is still terrible when anything ends, I say and we sit in the car and watch a bald man eat curly fries at a table for four marked by three empty seats. She gives me a look. I throw a stone into the pits of her eyes and listen for it to land.
Am I her sister now?
Kara Nosal is (pretty much) a Colorado native and recent graduate of Colorado State University’s undergraduate Creative Writing program. She has had poems published in Colorado State’s Greyrock Review and the ‘zineArk and Saw.