(No) Time to Dwell
Black wings feather, lip the horizon.
An indelible spot marring the blue
as it disappears into the leaves
see-sawing dogwood blooms.
I don’t normally see crows swaggering
mid-morning on a Wednesday
or hear the garbage truck hum the pavement,
cans banging the rear loader.
By now I am usually at the office
listening to copy machines spit reams of paper,
telephones ringing, and chatter invading my focus.
I watch my husband play with our German shepherd
while we shelter in place. Spared
the process of unemployment,
an underlying condition and loneliness,
I try not to think about the rash decisions
to flatten the curve, the widespread
consequences intended or not.
At the dining table, I tap away on my laptop.
Wind chimes sing, sway a spring tune,
nestlings chirp new life on the front porch,
and the washing machine spins my pajamas
clean for work tomorrow.
Chris Wood is a lease analyst by day, student by night, and writer in between. Chris grew up in Florence, KY just across the river from Cincinnati and now lives in Tennessee with her husband and works for a REIT company. She is currently earning her bachelor’s degree and has poetry published in Conch.es, Poetry Quarterly, Haiku Journal, and Three Line Poetry.
