Sloshing words, all of them needy - Weebly.com
Inside the Pandemic
by Roberta Greifer
I’m sloshing words, all of them needy
and begging for a handout.
But there’s no shoulder to cry on. So I
enter the zone of self-pity where
I wander in my imagination
trying to catch a glimpse of my former life.
The memories of it are blacked-out
windows and I can’t see the events
on my calendar, only splattered marks. Today
is written with invisible ink. Trying to
remember joy is like paring an apple that
never gets smaller. Suddenly, I hear
music, an impoverished melody with
The pauses between open like crevices.
Pieces of me are stuck in them.
What am I forgetting? Instead of feelings
at the bottom, there’s only
a new more deadly mutation. I curse it
under my mask.
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