Poetry at 50, in the US, as a woman [white], 2021, during a pandemic, in a glorious & painful spring, a flash poem, in four parts

1. Our flags always fly at half-mast now.Wide and unhealed wounds on high for the world to seeflap dripping loss and pus rains down into the public square. Below themwhite men, whips still in handand a few hard-yoked women, their heads downplodding alongfacing only...

In Saying Goodbye

I found a perfect dead bird on the deck, outside the window victim of violence a deceptive white light through too-big windows his perfectly groomed feathers grew darker as they moved from his pale yellow-gray head to his almost black tail I spent yesterday willing...

Arlo

Happy final day of national poetry month! A flash poem a day, every day, in April! Looking forward to next year. Here’s today’s silly poem… Arlo Waggingly he came from the streets of LA Bundled up, shipped off to Seattle where average time to...