One is my mother. Her smile a Siamese cat’s —
her ears sharp and tail proud as she blinks a wise-eyed stare.

One is a dead poet I love. His appearance wakes me
inside the dream I’m dreaming. I panic that he has died,
but in my sleep, he lives again.

Who is here and who has gone?

The abandoned shells of crabs are numinous
and litter the beach.

                              The smallest cormorant dreams
the soft salty flesh of crab. The beach sends ominous signs to my waking self.

One is a friend who died at sixteen, our lives briefly linked.

I walk though these dreams. Are they my own?
In a mask I walk. In a hand-sewn burgundy mask.

People who have died catch this terrible cough.
Die again.

I wake
to the waking world,
the dog on me breathes his shuddering sigh,
while the dog of my dreams
quietly
watches me.

Small the changes we made
to the yard from last
spring to this. Shrubs
mainly, a path, a deck.
But we must have changed
the northwest passage
around the house for today
the strong wind, soothing
as it was for a time
in its familiarity as I sat
with the horror of news,
ultimately crushed the curve
taken by a flock of American
tree sparrows against my window.
One after one they fell. I rose,
made myself look at each one,
the whole works. Dead dead dead
dying dead. Look what I’ve done.

After Nora Ephron’s “What I’ll miss, what I won’t miss”

What I Don’t Miss

Traffic
Chauvinism
Mall noise
Parking meters
Public restrooms
Small talk

What I Do Miss

Sparring
New book smell
Textures
Specialty tea stores
The family cat
Hugs

The universe has a peculiar reaction to our sincere desires.
— Mary Ruefle, “Someone Reading a Book”

Sincere desire: to call
today the worst birthday
but I don’t care.

The cat is all now you know
how it feels. House finches
swing on the feeder,

chuffed to see me
behind glass. My sincere desire
is to record a teaching video.

I am pale but I explain
the field of cultural production
to an empty room:
Continue Reading Self-isolation with universe

My COVID-19 adventure began on March 13th around 3:30 in the afternoon. I was standing in a grocery store loading a weekend’s worth of groceries onto a conveyor belt. Then there was a “ding” from the pocket of a woman ahead of me.

As she whipped out her phone and began reading, more dings came one after the other, then in unison, from people all over this grocery store. Looking around, everyone had their faces glued to a device. Then came the “oh nos” and the “oh my gods” and the “what am I going to dos?” from an entire store full of parents who just found out March break will last at least three weeks because of the coronavirus.

Continue Reading I Have Rheumatoid Arthritis. What Happens When I Run Out of Hydroxychloroquine?