March 20, 2018
For John Porcellino
In the evening
the expectant hush
palpable from the small audience
Having dealt with the pause
a lip to his finger
he sips pop from a can
The first image from his talk
on the projector,
then he begins with
May 7, 2018
The play of all her feelings as she reads from her phone –
a smile full and open
Incredulity in her mouth – pulled to one side in smirk
Expectancy – a brief twinge of slow annoyance,
or vague disgust
A smile again and silent laughter.
Sun illuminates half of her face as we ascend,
out from the tunnel
Her shirt gathers in a series of wrinkles,
she leans against the half wall and window by the door
Her weight largely on one leg,
one hip slightly raised
May 18, 2018
- A small black beetle, or flying ant, or other such divided insect, crawling on the thigh and then disappearing over the calf of the woman sitting next to me on the train.
- A dream of zombies. Flesh shorn and chewed. Gnawed. Inevitable and foreseen.
- The collapse of insect ecosystems and the disappearance of pollinators.
- Waking to another school shooting. Nightmarishly routine. Nauseatingly apathetic. Our nation’s meaningless thoughts and useless prayers.
- The world ending. The world breaking.
October 30, 2018
Tired. The changing of the seasons, tired.
Tired. Waking to a tantrum throwing child, tired.
Tired. It is no longer day, only night, tired.
Tired. The air heavy with dry leaves, tired.