By Hollie Hardy
A Murmuration of Starlings
In the cities, protestors break quarantine and windows expressing moral outrage, like a choreographed ballet at 45, your mother asks you to move home so she can keep you safe I take all day to summon the courage to swim across the river where the late afternoon sun warms the rocks a mother’s job is to worry because we cannot escape the river, we cannot escape the president his omnipotent lies and beguiling teeth gleam like wolves in the twitterlight hark, the darkening view from my apartment, television-blue skyline rearranging a racial hierarchy at hospitals dressed in death water is stronger than rocks time’s carving knife ripples and recedes in its own image patient, a river-shaped handprint at midnight the landlord is summoned to clean up mountains of cardboard boxes so they cannot be burned by protestors (like us) we enjoy the sight of his labors, from behind closed shades today a rocket launches two astronauts into space escaping gravity but not quarantine on the ground a handsome reporter tears up and turns away in another life, I wonder what kind of bird I might be— built for speed or distance, solitary or gregarious I want to join a migration, a murmuration of starlings, an acrobatic aerial display on the drive to the river, we play “I’m going on a trip” you bring an anvil and a parachute because the laws of attraction supersede the laws of physics in the morning the scent of you coffee and earth, the promise of rain the weight of your body next to mine means you are still here, means I am not alone
Slow Motion Upon a Pallid Landscape
Days slide nameless into weeks Tuesday tantamount to Saturday we wake up in fragments hours later than we meant the sound of hammering is loud at the epicenter of change we linger in dreams follow kinks in the hose pick fruits and flowers that don’t belong to us happiness resembles a fickle flitting bird because quarantine is equivalent to quagmire we build a new vocabulary for togetherness a private lexicon for latchkey adults a grist of sodium chloride we eat chocolate at midnight because feelings are so emotional we learn to breathe in protest through our homemade voluntary bindings but forget to hydrate we let wind quench our thirst cooling and tangling everywhere light lands lush with texture along the forbidden trail waves burst around rocks like wings poison oak blooms at our elbows But we will not be warned we have come to build
June 1, 2020
Categories: Poetry, shelter-in-place, The Movement, Uncategorized
Great sheltered in place poems!