A courteous knock on the door / Followed by a confident entry / Quickly halted by an urgent cry
Yours is the name I carry on / You were the first I mourned when gone
20 / still / except / her chest rising, falling
The clock behind me ticks / As the seconds line up with the cicadas’ hiss, / I hear the children outside, and the cracks of sticks
As the door swings open, it hits the chair that was shifted more than usual. / Next to the computer sits a 94-year-old woman in a wheelchair / who is here for one last visit.
I’m 19, I was caught trespassing. / They said I was acting “unusual.” / No reason really.
A seedling, a baby — / the most vulnerable state. / Roots, placenta ground into mother — / wholly dependent on a magnificent caretaker.
I am sitting in school / but I am also thinking of you. / Yes, I do / wonder how consciousness / wraps round and round / this hunk of meat, / how chunks of flesh / sustain your metaphysical feat.
if we can just cling / and weather this weather, / we can make some things / much better and better.
In a hospital room lit blue / By the rays entering in from the clouded sun
I’m not the first to think / under my breath, even out loud: / To test positive for Covid. / Even after this morning.
Secret / The caterpillar munching on hair / beneath your scrub cap