Life After Death
Something startled me:
where I thought I was safest
where I thought I belonged
so I will follow Whitman—
avoid the still woods I love
and fields where I used to walk.
I won’t emerge from my home
to meet friends in open spaces
or hug them and share a coffee,
there are no cafes anymore.
Even the ground has sickened.
Men in white spray disinfectant
over streets to stem disease.
Yet, I’m alive to sounds of spring
rising from death and decay of winter.
I’m alive to the prospect of summer
when death-fertilized ground shows life
Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places, and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy, and reality. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud War Poetry for Today competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including Apogee, Firewords, Capsule Stories, Gyroscope Review, and So It Goes. Find Lynn here.
Image Credit: Crocuses under the snow on a spring sunny day [Lyme Inn, Lyme, NH]