Margaret Ingles © 2026
by Sarah Mills
Love Poem Written on the Eve
of the Apocalypse
Everyone talks about the apocalypse like it's all zombies and asteroids, but nobody mentions the quiet parts. Here I am, kissing your microplastic lips, pulling ash from your soft hair. I tried to be a minimalist because I knew how suffocating the landfills would feel at the end of the world. I became obsessed with letting go, throwing away things I needed, practical things like a hammer. The sky is cleaved open, its insides shining like the pipes from an organ I saw on a curb outside a church. I wondered if it could still make music. Your irises are glowing from staring at the radioactive Milky Way, its purple stars wetting your cheeks. Did we have enough time to do all the things we loved? I took so many long drives with my car packed and the windows down, trying to escape Sadness, the name of my shadow. The feeling of aloneness pressing against my face—or was that just the wind? What struck me was that I still had so much room for hope. I paid for it like an extra carry-on, lugged it through the squeaky halls of my life on broken wheels, its contents spilling out. I held each item like a favorite sweater or beloved book, running my hand over it the way I am grazing your cheek now, burning red like embers. I love this one, I said so many times, stuffing it back in, deciding to keep it.
Equinox
The door to my father's bedroom swings open. He is on the floor, says he can't move. Outside the window, I can see the leaves of the scarlet oak curling like fingers. As they fall, the wind rakes them through the uncut grass. Something's wrong, my father says, his words falling like rivulets of paint down a wall. My heart is racing. The words stand upright and walk out of his mouth. Outside, the sun is flickering through orange clouds. I think of all the jack-o’-lanterns we’ve left on the front porch to rot, their faces drooping. The leaves are still falling. Slowly. If I hold out my hand, maybe I can stop them before they reach the ground.
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Sarah Mills's debut collection is forthcoming in 2027 with Lit Fox Books. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in RHINO, ONLY POEMS, Four Way Review, Josephine Quarterly, HAD, The Shore, Whale Road Review, and elsewhere. Visit her at sarahmillswrites.com and on Bluesky @sarahmillswrites.