The sun dips slowly
into the inky tree line.
My pen feels empty.
It has a foreign
feeling, weighted in my hand,
scratching syllables
about freedom when
nothing anywhere seems fair
or just, or just kind.
I hear the world news,
switch to local. Still, all bad.
The forecast is storms.
Then the bats emerge,
black on the pink horizon,
diving for dinner.
In an instant this
summer night seems cooler now.
Somehow, my pen moves.
Suddenly a poem
appears, about bat magic,
magenta sunsets.
is a queer poet, storyteller, and visual artist. A former Penn State professor and Fortune 500 Vice President, Jo retired into the social vacuum of Covid-19 and returned to poetry after decades of writing prose in academia and business. Delighted to be building a community of creative writers, she holds an abiding belief in the power of small groups to accomplish great things, from achieving social justice in organizations to workshopping a poem that just isn’t quite there yet. A member of the Maryland Writer’s Association, Jo lives in Baltimore with her wife Gail and her dog Moxie.
