As the zeros were added, my stress headaches churned like the pandemic that caused them. One of the mayors called the disease a slow-moving hurricane. Ah, this feeling of inadequacy to stop the churning. This shame that I didn’t foresee the spread sooner. Didn’t prepare better. Still don’t know what to do, as evidenced by all the zeros. As if I were somehow to blame for the fate of a withering world. Or just helpless against the storm. What kind of survivor am I if months of downward spiral aren’t enough for me to learn to fly? Maybe I can forgive myself for being wingless. Without answers. Human. Even Atlas set down the burden sometimes, didn’t he?
shape of a bell curve
the shocking bloom
of daffodils
holds a Ph.D. in biochemistry and an unwavering awe of nature and the process of personal transformation. Her poems have been published in frogpond, Mayfly, Rattle, the Red Moon Anthology, and elsewhere. Her third book, Stumbling Toward Happiness: Haibun and Hybrid Poems (2019), shares her meditative notes of self-exploration. Kat leaves her books in public spaces for strangers to find as part of her Ripples of Kindness project. She lives in Connecticut with her family on the edge of a fairy forest. She shares her writing on Twitter and Instagram: @SongsOfKat
