<\/p>\n
The first, the grey tabby, pawing at my face
\nso I will let him under the covers or
\nheavy between one knee and the other
\nso I cannot turn. I regret waking
\nbut do it anyway, one child
\nalready eating cereal
\nand listening to the same audiobook
\nhe listens to every day. Phone,
\nheadphones, walk. Now daffodils,
\nnow garlic mustard, now the tiny yellow
\nflowers by the river whose name
\nI cannot remember. The way a woman
\nlooks afraid when we have to pass
\neach other on the path, the man
\nwinding up the swings on the playground
\nso they cannot be used.
\nMy children, running along the top
\nof the sand dunes by the side of the river,
\nnot wondering (as I do) how they came there,
\nsimply running, faster, shouting,
\nYou can\u2019t catch me!
\nThe teacher on the call saying, It matters
\nif you survive, each one of you,
\nthe apple I slice and bring,
\nthe nightmares they wake from,
\nthe pillow I bring with me from one bed
\nto another, the last our breathing together
\nin the darkened room, still.<\/p>\n
April 2020<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
A Poem by Adrie Rose…<\/p>\n