The first week in the first year of the plague,
when we told ourselves there was no plague,
the flowers were more than willing
to confirm our opinion.
Everyone around here is sluggish. The young woman who checks my purchases off the conveyor belt dabs her eyes and stifles a yawn. She keeps shaking herself awake as the … Continue reading
Plague on the winds, in the air,
on our tongues in the midst of old conversations.
the whole country snarled into such a hot mess
you wouldn’t recognize democracy if she
removed her skirts and danced on your lap for free,
pretending to like you.
After the shots
Not a fever
No side effect
Except this pause
Is something burning? Is something here
on fire? It smells like something here is
burning or on fire. It might be in my head.
Everything seems to glow richer before first frost, a last hurrah before the ghostly breath passes over.
As the world continues to endure the ravages of COVID-19, another ghost of Dickinson steps into view.