Days of 2020
Elizabeth Shorkey
The year you found yourself without class
having waited four years and two mouthfuls
of cinnamon In front of an iPhone camera
you have new emergencies with showers
of spit and spice clogging the lens
Gather against your screen while shopkeepers
shudder closed save ears in plastic cups
In front of the capitol men line up
to measure themselves in traffic windows
Nestle a thick needle into the crook of your arm
imagine a child’s finger growing pink then red
You remember the girl you kissed
and her dyed hair it’s like she’s the one
pulling out the knotted red thread
Yet the next day when she is a bruise crawling
over your body you forget her again and you sleep
before and after you wake This is the monotony
you dreamt and wished and prayed after
Today as you scratch the paper you can’t mend
sight so watch yesterday pedal today again.