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...

Nursery

internet, off now breathing, noticed ears dancing with rain down eve spouts family, hugged, fed, dispersed to their corners paw, across cat’s face wood floor, brightened with daylight through clouds, appreciated aspect, spacious eyes, closed lungs, expanding...

Well Rested

I am tired of this world I’m tired of violence rabid intolerance greed rewarded trodden humans hidden, outright thwarted young lives mangled, ended weapons preferred to soft human flesh I’m tired of being told what to think how to think why I’m wrong...

What Althea Hears

From across a great distance Althea said op3398££$&00!!! 940ttti %$%^&*mmm …….!! ¬¬¬¬¬ BB jhut mkopi D74 Se Se Se ! ”£$$%^& Wait. How did she know? How could she see my life so clearly from the other side of the world? Yesterday was terrible. I failed....