Poetry

The Healer

For months, her determined hands
/ coaxed the sickness up and out of my lungs / until it came to rest, eventually, in her own—

Fast-Thinning Throng

I’m angrily packing to fly to my dying brother. / My husband stands and watches. As a tree / might look at someone, he looks down at me.

Drought Pastoral

I wanted you, desert / you red incorruptible // parchedness perched on / the earth’s bone shoulder

Describe a morning you woke without fear.

It is four in the darkness and you cannot breathe. / You cannot will your chest to expand, and suddenly, / this is all right.

She Misses and Wishes We Could All Live Together

We lean close to admire the web / then blow on it // gently.

A Zoom Call, Before Treatment

He has started praying – / my mother says, clenching in her hands / a blurry set of pixels.

The Call

I could tell from his voice / something was horribly wrong. / I’m okay he said over and over / in a tone that told me he was anything but.

Ear Examined

A trickster, the ear. Making us believe/
what eyes deny or hearts might doubt,

When the Self Goes, It Goes

into the folds of the purple iris which, at dawn, / becomes the hub for spider silk, filament after / filament…