Left at the light was the first move.
We observed traffic– cats watching
the world through a window. When
was the last time we were downtown?
All that population. And still no sign
of nature. Yes, of course, the bridges
twist into cyberpunk pretzels. I’ve
considered apocalypse but not like
this: a thousand bullets shooting
up the expressway toward a
vague conclusion.
(originally published in Viral Imaginations: COVID-19, Winter 2021)
I don’t have a new perspective.
Snow thaws on sidewalk beside
uncollected garbage. Half the city
workers are in quarantine yet
there are boxes to be shipped
for Christmas or our mothers’
birthdays. I drove on dew
streets to buy you bagels–
but stopped at the sight of
a long line to retreat into
the O of your arms in my
mind. Please park
your car next to mine.
We will sit in our usual
distance and wait for spring.
(originally published in Dodging the Rain, Winter 2021)
When I am lonely,
it helps to not think
of the universe. I imagine
Earth buried in the darkest
cemetery, a headstone
with some space separating
it from the next.
I know there must be a
tenderness quotient
in the cosmos, a rose
on some crimson planet
blooming tall to wave
at me, its petals drifting
aimlessly through
a garden of light-
years. This distance
is more collective
than we know.
(originally published in South Florida Poetry Journal, Fall 2020)
Hands are raw from cheap soap
and scrubbing. We’re jobless now
so here’s the sink full of
better times we’re rinsing.
Let’s rearrange the living
room, drag the couch
from the side wall
to the back wall,
place the coat rack
in a different dusty corner,
treat the TV like
the god it wants to be.
There will be many
forms of worship,
this distancing.
Books. Cooking.
Writing. Pining.
Finally, I have time
to make music
and poetry but
I can’t put my phone
down– notifications
for each cog of society
as it breaks down.
You ask
should we hang
art on the walls?
I ask, what art?
(originally published in American Writers’ Review, Summer 2020)
this is no end
nor beginning
I climb into the clock
and hairs of time still
wend from its beating
wings until purpose
finds me this is just
another way to kill time
(originally published in Ginosko Literary Journal, Fall 2021)