During COVID, It Doesn’t Matter It doesn’t matter that you showered two days agoand can no longer tie your sweat pantsor your roots are longer than your front yard grassand the toilet paper wasn’t replaced on the empty tubeeven though you bought the huge bonus packor you need vanilla to add to your cookies,the peanut […]
I lost my amazing dog during coronavirus, but in my mind his wisdom remains
Grief Said Hey, grief said. Make the bed. Own the hour. Follow the sun, its radiance, reminder to the day, light to open your heart to the silence to the blue, blue sky. My mantra of longing is What would Jackson say or do? A guiding whisper in the middle of the night to take care of your […]
Will tomorrow ever look like yesterday? Or do we kiss “normal” goodbye?
We all wanted to believe That tomorrow would look pretty much like todayBecause today looked pretty much like yesterday. Hadn’t it always been that way? And helping all this along Was a simple repeating songThat if you can’t think of something nice Then you better just think twice. MORE: See all of our Write On, Colorado […]
At first it was an annoying, early morning noise. Now it’s a life-affirming response to the shutdown.
Inspiration: We all have varying ways of managing our cabin fever. What started as an “odd hours” annoyance has evolved into a “Ride on, skaterdude!” every time I hear him. Odd Hours Your skateboard wheels kuh-lack! before the sunSends quiet light at five fifty-two a.m.How can you see from inside that hoodieTo steer your cambered […]
These days, so common a task as grocery shopping leaves its unique mark on poetry
Week Two I risk a tripto King Soopersfor essentials:milk, bread,eggs, bananas.Shoppers smilesix feet waryand swallow the urgeto cough, converse. A sneeze—we freeze. MORE: See all of our Write On, Colorado entries and learn how to contribute your own here. A green plantdroops, a shamrockon clearance. A bargainwasting awayat ninety-nine cents.Moved by the hungerto heal, my glovedhand selectsthis […]
This poem I wrote after the rising of the pink moon and one of our terrible nights of so many dead
Waking After Eighteen Hundred Dead Prayer began earlybefore the sterling jaysdove, then clatteredat our window,flicked the blue darkstorm of their tails. Our pale trees bow downsecretlyand a nuthatchteeters upside downfrom the post of the birdfeederI buried with stonesanother spring,his thin straight beaktapping at the seedI leave out all night. MORE: See all of our Write On, Colorado […]