Rapture – Victoria Briggs [ Poetry]


The saved will be called first

gathered up like apples in the late autumn sunshine

the orchard falling away beneath them, a carpet of spoiled windfalls

and grass snakes summoned by some ancient déjà vu


They will rise wingless in the air 

floating up to the clouds in defiance of physics

shimmering like a heat haze in the wake of an explosion

like birds, whirling madly, dazzled by the sun


They will be greeted by a fanfare of trumpets

filling the sky with strains of wild angelic jazz

while a choir of risen dead sing the Hallelujah Chorus

their voices trembling in vibrato, limbs flailing in the light


And you who never could bear to be left out, yelling up at them from the badlands:

 ‘Wait for me, Goddammit. Wait for me!’


By Victoria Briggs

  • Victoria Briggs is an award-winning and Pushcart-nominated writer with work published by Bloomsbury, Unthank Books, Prole, Structo, The Honest Ulsterman, The Stockholm Review, Riggwelter Press, Litro, The Nottingham Review, and others. She lives in London, where she works as an editor, and tweets @vicbriggs.

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