Click Page 68

Poetry of Issue #8        Page 68

COVID Spring

If a night of rain doesn’t pry
petals off the cherry tree
then maybe all the tears
won’t wash the virus down
the streets of Greenwich Village,
tumble into gutters
and carry them out to the salty sea
where fish eat what doesn’t float
and stay safe to spawn the next generation.

When the nurses lift their lids
and enter subway cars
already masked like bandits
to steal the germs away
they’ll see the people set in seats
like counters in a game
each with a shelf life
stamped on shoe bottom
but ready for the roll of chance:
some germinating the crown of death
jeweled points springing through
their scalps and sparking hair
as the days progress to rituals
that call us blessed.

  Sarah Wyman