#FlattenTheCurve: Inside Out Abecedarian: Day 21 by Beth Gordon

800px-Woman_in_a_dark_room_looking_to_a_mac_computer

Magic mirror on the wall don’t speak,
not now when my face is unfolding like tired
origami. Outside, robins are breathing easier.
Preening. Packs of rabbits emerge from grass,
quietly. Quoting St. Francis, this circle of tails +
revolution + raindrops: I say forgive us. I say,
stay, stay. You can’t hear behind your glass:
that’s treefrogs singing. And bull frogs
unearthed, ugly and croaking hymns.
Valium? Verily? The creek is drowning my
words. Without them I am as ordinary as death.
Xtinct. Xtinguished. Yes, I’m losing letters.

Yes, you too. Until the body count is
zero, zero is all we can ask for.

Listen lovely world I miss you. My days
kite-less. Kitchens have become cinnamon
jails, jails have become morgues.
Inside, imagining oceans in my ears,
helpless hallelujahs swallowed by gulls.
God goes here.
Fireflies + felons tucked inside his pocket,
every elusive prayer climbing cherry trees.
Dying doesn’t scare me. Dimes-stores & daises.
Chamomile cicadas chimes & crossword puzzles.
Birdhouses. Behind my glass I sing row the boat
ashore. All I have is this: this is everything.

 

 

Beth Gordon is a poet, mother and grandmother currently living in Asheville, NC. Her poems have been nominated for Best of the Net, Pushcart and the Orison Anthology. She is the author of two chapbooks: Morning Walk with Dead Possum, Breakfast and Parallel Universe (Animal Heart Press) and Particularly Dangerous Situation (Clare Songbird Publishing). She is Managing Editor of Feral, Assistant Editor of Animal Heart Press and Poetry Editor of Gone Lawn.

 

Photograph by Beercha.

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