~ spring, late Covid time, 2021
Mostly it’s been just me
and my winter shadow
walking the fog,
unlatched from a safe
and solitary burrow to work
my lungs and unshorn legs,
make sure I’m alive, check
my breath against a mirror
scrap of the afternoon’s last light.
Maybe a couple Cooper Hawks
circle overhead—wings
spread, holding up the final sun—
a life of suspension
until one dive bombs the other,
hot for whatever livid thing’s
squirming in the opposite’s beak,
nabbed from dead brush
a minute back. Once in a while
a stray student or custodian
and I cross paths, our masks
and distance maintained
like the vivid hibiscus
and grass between us. I can’t help
how my voice and wrist
suddenly wag from afar,
my hand rocketing
skyward like a flare or flag
in flames, a lunatic waving
from her lone cell, my feral
Hello Hello!
that bolts without warning
or premeditated thought.
Poor captive morsel,
little mouse
in my mouth—
fighting so hard
to free itself.
