Like the arc of an asteroid’s predicted landing
none of us are sure what’s yet to come as we ignore
skin’s craving. We stay in this strange apart space where
we cannot shake hands hug dance kiss cannot simply slide
next to one another on couch park bench diner booth as we’ve
always sat, loops for the same belt. By now we know someone struggling
to breathe. A friend’s cousin, co-worker’s spouse, or person we know more
intimately. For me it’s a writing student, my doctor’s brother, a neighbor’s elderly father.
Time falls from the clock, lies in a heap by the door.
Laura Grace Weldon is the author of three books, most recently the poetry collection Blackbird (Grayson Books, 2019), the strength of which led her to being named 2019 Ohio Poet of the Year. Laura works as a book editor, teaches writing workshops, and maxes out her library card each week.