Geri

I think peace looks like:  

driving on the highway from College Park  

listening to “White Ferrari” 

by Frank Ocean 

Monday 

Rejection 

Run late 

Elections 

It’s a Friday 

Let's lie down 

We’ll figure 

The clock was frozen in amber, but now frost creeps up to crack the warm glow. The minute hand trembles, then moves in wistful whirls. The Christmas tree slumps, its shiny tears clinking against the wooden floor.

She imagines the universe, 

the world suspended in midair.

Before, nothing except possibility even existed. 

The Milky Way, Earth, evolution–shimmer and dematerialize. 

“Qué será mi pobre patria oscura?” 

“What will become of my poor, dark country?” - from “Insomnia” by Pablo Neruda