Mirror’d in tarnished mercury speckle another wintery Covid weekend. She no longer listens for the sound of latch-lift at her gate; since Covid’s time-lines set in place mean the rest of her own Time-Line must wait. Another day for old photos but first, I must dress She chooses the crushed-velvet skirt pleased with the long black line. Over her delicate frame she slides “that” silky black shirt. From shoulder to hip - serpentine shines its white satin-stitch – The wide black cuffs - she buttons them down, inside out for flair my dear - she once said - at one’s wrist. Beneath her upswept white hair Dragons in silver a-dandle Covid’s time-line defined By her own black line
To nearly quote Henry James: a writer is someone on whom no word is lost. And writer/scholar Ong: …with the word – a direct pitch into the consciousness.
In this submission, Denise is trying to “word” the existential thread of connection…between connection and mental health… during Covid-isolation.
Denise trained in advertising and Art. She is still creating worlds – with words.
Her appreciation of the encouragement from her local FAW Poetry Group is total.