Category: Poems

Walking around the lake 
the path narrows such that 
you cannot tell the last time
someone else walked this way 

close enough to the edge 
the water may overtake 
all flora and fauna in its wake 
almost but not quite 

at the far side a water park 
hundreds of cars parked nose 
to nose barely enough space 
for the sun to burn fragile skin 

frogs croaking in response
to cackles of school’s out kids
while the path around the lake 
remains almost pandemic quiet 

we may be marking new treads 
along with cicada emergence circles 
the whole circuit takes less time 
than we thought it would to traverse 

back at the skate park parking lot 
nearest car idles while driver naps 
waiting for energy to be expended 
summer heart a loneliness hunter

Now that we’re open 
people are driving their cars like maniacs 
crossing seven lanes of traffic 
without even signaling 
just so they would not miss a turn 
that if they had missed would mean
going around the block 
which they were going to avoid 
by any means necessary 
either they spent so long not driving 
they have forgotten how to drive 
or the fact that the roads are now 
repopulated according to the whims 
of who never really had the choice 
of staying home or going to an office 
that was never going to appreciate them 
and suddenly there are places to be 
despite deteriorating driving skills
the opinion piece I read today said 
that this is America’s Renaissance 
that the pandemic disrupted daily life 
in a way few emergencies have before
and shaken things up and cleared the way 
for an economic boom and social revival 
now they are bursting out of the gate 
racing to be the first at the red light 
that arrives late and always lasts too long

You will know the roots 
have run deep 
by the sign in the branches 
waving welcome home 

we once were tiny seeds 
all scattered together 
waiting for homecoming 
by straying from the paths 

finding new friends 
as familiar as air 
filtered and regenerated 
through our limbs 

fortunate this canopy resides 
overhead and by our side

In the late afternoon 
as the sun makes its first appearance 
burning off the humidity 
that slept us through the day 
you sit in the yard 
with a book of Virginia poems 
coming to terms with history 
and use a piece of paper 
to set right a stranded cicada 
screaming for lack of anything body
having spent most of its before life 
trawling through the darkness
suddenly witnessing with senses 
too new but for bewilderment 
the shock of the sun 
then becoming earth again