Poetry
She called me to pick her up, but by the time I drove to the block,/
three men in total pandemic suits were walking her out.
Think your lungs a forest cleared./
Your breath winged/
as if it had a better place to go
…Any other day/
I might give up & swallow every sound/
I could utter. Not today…
Woke gnawing its remains. Air/
had the brackish tinge of depths I had/
all night been swimming in.
Ingeborg Riedmaier reads “The Department Store Badger,” a poem by Rachel Dragos
Lost in the midnight stillness, my mother/
rises to dress and begin another/
chilly day. She crosses the moonlit floor.
