Corona Archive #3: Day
December 14, 2020Poetry by Sheila Black
I wonder about the half-advertent suicides. About a person who writes about a wing in the sky.
I wonder about the half-advertent suicides. About a person who writes about a wing in the sky.
But at least that world’s alive to rage and mourn.
You’re what the white folks hate, the races mixing, and the girl knows better.
The flash form often invites me to use what I call a communal or a collective voice.
On the Fourth of July, I convinced myself there was hope.
One can be content with little in life, if that little is immense.
I think now, in this time of violence and protest, of what Steve Cannon would say about the madness of some and the resolve of others.