couple links, a poem
chernobyl was thirty-five years ago and i still want to suit up and attach a geiger counter to my wrist and tour around the place. altho maybe i won't need all the precautions! because a couple of studies have something to say about the radiation. (hint: it's not all awful.)
way back when the polio vaccine was first introduced, teenagers were originally reluctant to get jabbed. so a massive campaign was introduced to convince them. and it worked. (hint: if you haven't gotten a covid vax yet, and you can get one - like, you're not violently allergic and won't have a catastrophic reaction - you better be planning on it.)
i hope you all enjoyed the very random poems for poetry month. i enjoyed sharing them. :D
forming an arrowhead, ibises carry each other in the direction of
what i want to read as a glyph of hope.
i walk east-a parking lot almost burns-the dusk blushes,
lukewarm-then i’m back again on the balcony of my university
building six and half years ago before we met, wind transporting
brush sediments towards approaching summer.
those jacarandas and tolerant native vines-auspicious walks on
hot nights, a feline rolls her body in dirt. under this sky, i nurse
a kindling.
you feel gone more than ever. your shoulder turns over into
another bed. shadows lean into my neck like ink spill, reminding
me of those ibises and how i should proceed.
in absence, i despise what you’ve become, what you’ve always
been, a secret set loose and this body who prays for your
reckoning.
--"to hold these contradictions in kinship", Angela Peñaredondo
way back when the polio vaccine was first introduced, teenagers were originally reluctant to get jabbed. so a massive campaign was introduced to convince them. and it worked. (hint: if you haven't gotten a covid vax yet, and you can get one - like, you're not violently allergic and won't have a catastrophic reaction - you better be planning on it.)
i hope you all enjoyed the very random poems for poetry month. i enjoyed sharing them. :D
forming an arrowhead, ibises carry each other in the direction of
what i want to read as a glyph of hope.
i walk east-a parking lot almost burns-the dusk blushes,
lukewarm-then i’m back again on the balcony of my university
building six and half years ago before we met, wind transporting
brush sediments towards approaching summer.
those jacarandas and tolerant native vines-auspicious walks on
hot nights, a feline rolls her body in dirt. under this sky, i nurse
a kindling.
you feel gone more than ever. your shoulder turns over into
another bed. shadows lean into my neck like ink spill, reminding
me of those ibises and how i should proceed.
in absence, i despise what you’ve become, what you’ve always
been, a secret set loose and this body who prays for your
reckoning.
--"to hold these contradictions in kinship", Angela Peñaredondo