one night

by arnold schnabel

illustrated by rhoda penmarq

One night the ceiling opened and I rose up slowly; Above my house I twisted round, looked down and back On Nedro Avenue, B Street, and the Heintz factory; Black smoke billowed from a gaping maw-like stack, Smoke enveloped me and all was dark; Like a dead cinder upward I floated and spinned: I called to God for light, a tiny spark: He did not answer. The reason? I had sinned. For fifteen years I stared at the night within my head And then at last I slept for another fifteen, Till I awoke firmly bound to a clean white bed. It’s been several days and now the bed is not so clean, And neither am I; each night I watch the ceiling yawn, But I am well-strapped in: I await the dawn.

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