Day seventy-five — Under twenty rolls, unfortunate incident with an unsupervised toddler in the bathroom. Lesson learned, again. Day one hundred — My hand smells worse than a pile of pig dung, no matter how much I wash it. Bidet arrives by FedEx, overnight delivery. Luxury Class Supreme BB-1000 Bidet Seat. Day one hundred and one — Bidet is a magical wonder. Warm water rushing against my dirty, unshaved anus is soothing, invigorating, life altering; it’s a modern miracle of invention. Should’ve ordered the bidet months ago when we battled another unrelenting norovirus. Day one hundred and twelve — Social media post: Can anyone spare a ventilator? Willing to share if necessary. Emailed James Dyson, awaiting reply. Day one hundred and twenty-seven — Epitaph reads… Dead, cold, and gray but a toilet seat bidet made him quite gay if only for a quarantine day
Wisdom Strands Poetry
Antoinette Foxworthy Livermore, California, USA
Silver highlights her mane Signaling passage of many moons Waxing and waning Thin gray wisdom strands Cling to delicate cheeks Framing furrowed face Yet I failed to recognize Prized silver-gray medals Atop her head Instead, I watched Each split-end fall Filling hair brush With precious age lessons Sage knowledge became Tangled in ratty nest Discarded in trash I wish I had asked Mom Before hair sheen and Memory disappeared Now it’s too late I honor her with My own silver tresses Praying someone will ask me Before it’s too late
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Looking Back on Early Days Poetry
JC Reilly
Marietta, Georgia, USA
You brought me here when the grasses were high and the bayous sang of summer. In the oak trees moss fluttered like soft gray hair, and could I freeze the memory there, I’d think that you and I were well-matched as blue and hyacinth, me a bit shy, you exuberant as a bee swarm, doing your best to ease me into your power. How my heart would seize for love of you when the sun caught your eyes and dazzled like a diadem. But I recall what came later: the shifting clouds, the howl, the hurricane, the dogged wind that could rip through wood. By then, I was too entwined to know how cut off from others you’d made me, how you feigned affection, how I had lost myself to you, for good.
