Friday April 10, 2020
From an email
Do you like to know what’s coming?
I do. I like to know what the shape of the horizon will be on the dewy morning’s crest.
I like to know what time you will be home
and what you might like to have for lunch.
I like to know that the weight in my cheeks, chestnuts of growing, will keep me fed
through the thunderstorm and scything.
The water here tastes silky and wise.
Walk down to the lake and house secret
in the veins of my boot bottoms.
Death tolls rising. The virus has reached
an Indigenous tribe in Brazil, did you hear? Raise stakes around hope like tomato plants. Edges for the vines to hold on to.
For your safety, make your anthem
“The only constant is change,” sung
full voice into the beaver ponds, full voice etching the bark of the ash.