Journalism in Verse – EST. 2016

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July ICU Daydream

in Coronavirus by

this is not my bed of lavender
not my patch of reddened blackberries

and the wind here is a flood
in my chest a mechanical gust

it would tear off the loose rose petals
this is not what I want to watch

these faces hidden in pale blue
swatches of sky no mouths

little billows and sucks under eyes
under brows like the wings of swallows

and it’s no fellow gardener’s glove
whose hand now takes mine with its own

urgent grasp enough to wrest a whole
fennel bulb out into this bright

by no sun this is not my bed
not my last bed without dirt

or grass or last year’s arugula back
with its tiny off-white blooms where gladly

I would spread myself in the earth
but this clang-circus no one I love

in sight in the blur I can see the care flash
and dart I do see the bare blinking

hope unfamiliar eyes grow known
these hours in this garden its hum

hiss and ring I am danced- and flown-
around by breath’s devout deliverers

yes let this be the ground
I’ll rest if breath’s done filling

my blood let these desperate devoted
be my flowering’s minyan

 

________

Jed Myers is author of Watching the Perseids (Sacramento Poetry Center Book Award), The Marriage of Space and Time (MoonPath Press), and four chapbooks. Recent poems appear in Rattle, Poetry Northwest, The American Journal of Poetry, Tinderbox, Ruminate, and elsewhere. He edits poetry for Bracken.

Photograph by Francesca Iezzi.

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