by Barbara Brauer
Sheltering in Place Something stops – holds me at the threshold of the morning, spring sun barging in like an in-law, of the afternoon, the sag, the flagging energy, of the evening when the lightlessness having gathered hour by slow hour has dimmed the living room lamp, dimmed my thought, until only dark remains. Something happens – I can’t take another step – Something leans in and whispers Useless All useless All gone. Something happens at the threshold Stops the – blocks the – so I can’t – Please let me hear from you! Send me an email, tell me the password, slip me the code to reboot.
Barbara is a freelance editor living in San Geronimo, California, and the author of two poetry collections from Sixteen Rivers Press: Rain, Like a Thief (2019) and At Ease in the Borrowed World (2013). Her poems have appeared in journals, anthologies, and art exhibitions. With portrait artist Jackie Kirk, she is co-author of the nonfiction book, Witness: The Artist’s Vision in The Face of AIDS.