Hello poets,
In life there’re certain curveballs. This year, that’s coming to an end, has been one hell of a year of curveballs for me. Least of all is getting covid on my birthday. A milestone birthday and I’d imagine bells and whistles you know. I’m not upset about it really, compared to the other curveballs. Instead I’m here to write about it and I hope you’re inspired to write about curveballs/mortality.
You’d stay to listen to me carrying a tune
—sure I do have some to cry about;
my uncle died the day I’d tested positive
and had to seal myself hermetically;
wouldn’t raise storms of dust
about that. His passage eased as I imagined,
seeing in what’s app his portrait beside
a paper mansion, what passed for a wheel,
a big paper bag of God-knows-what, teaching me
emptiness and humility, purpose in
a mystifying end. Perhaps for him
a lack of wind isn’t exactly a stall
but a permanence. As for mine, a lampooning of
my birthday expectations, a pulling down.
I am grateful for your presence filling those narrow
airways, even if I hadn’t known and never will
till gone to that golden gate as fast as arrows.
Red Wolf Prompts 