2019

I creeped through the doorway;

Looking over Mom’s shoulder to find my

Daily dose of everyone's obituary.

Each vine of life is

Frail and cradled by the lava of metal

Cooling into a blistering wound.

Mom always made sure she quickly looked at the tab,

Shifting away from the topic when it became present,

Even though each wall we stare at in isolation speaks the truth.

No amount of zoom calls,

And sleepless nights would tell me that tired

Looks like bruises,

And business is carved into the face with a dirty knife

That spread.

Spreading each of the hopes and wonders of the virus

That not even my brother could solve

With any amount of coding.

The endless pages and numbers that would soon list me

In their mourning of any world where a child can live without fear.

Tears of something more than gravity making us drop.

Dropped too fast for even a single fear to flood the dams.

Dams that dried up faster than

The frugal toilet paper.