%1

I tell him my favorite poet went blind at 43,
some think from the same condition as mine.
What good fortune that I can prevent such a
loss, unlike poor Milton whose eyes flickered
for years before they burned out like a candle
in middle age. How I’ve felt my age mostly
in my eyes, as if they are the center of my gravity,
carrying the weight of getting old like a pair of
sore shoulders. So much looking has made me
see less, I say, like reading a digital clock in the sun.

Three TV shows and movies that have combated loneliness and brought welcome distraction

we count
we matter
counting us
by country
numbered
jew by jew
all pass
beneath their rod
not just Poland’s
million three
and some tens
or is that hundreds
of thousands more
jew by jew
Albania’s two
barely hundreds
jew by jew
they matter too
by two
our numbers
known
inscribed
reckoned
totaled
and final
to be sure
never
our names
never
our faces

The stories we tell about consuming our way to a healthy environment

Darkness frees me to stand nightgowned
on the porch, watch
the dogs merge into shadow,
snuffle, pee, reappear.

I stretch, inhale summer’s warm weight,
imagine staying in this spot
while what has to be done
swirls by undone.

I imagine a taproot growing down my spine,
out my feet, through the porch floor
and deep underground,
rootlets reaching all directions.

Imagine remaining here so long
I fade from sight, although
everyone crossing this portal
pauses as they pass through my arms.

in the grocery store tonight
the persnickety cashier
smiled at me as though I were
a so-loved friend she knew
she would not see again

the sun was going down
the sky was pink and full of wind
O world I want to take you
in my arms: the trees the colors
the seas full of pufferfish

every warm and frightened
animal body that relies on the
rhythm two lungs make to go on
being what it is