Solar Sale

I wanted to earn enough to buy the sun, but here on earth I started hyperventilating and ran out of air. I didn’t breath again until I gasped at the sight of a cream and midnight striped tent. I stopped everything to watch the circus. The acrobats wore the night sky speckled with stars and held a little bronze bird, who couldn’t fly or sing but spoke the old tales while its tail curled. The elephants were on sabbatical, and we missed the tenderness of their trunks. It was enough to make me forget the market price of light and I missed the first half of the auction. By the time I remembered, I was outbid, too busy watching the northern lights to capitalize on the solar flare.Allison Burris grew up in the misty Pacific Northwest and writes whimsical and subversive poems from Oakland, CA. She holds a Masters in Library science, and you can often find her at the library, drawing, or baking. Recent publications include The Orange & Bee, New World Writing, and RockPaperPoem. Connect with…