Here is a poem written in collaboration with my dear friend, Eileen Hunter, as I navigate this confusing time. It was originally titled “Small Blue Trucks.”
Smoke swirls across the wall,
One vase of roses becomes six
Bronze globes gild the dining room
The walls are pinball machines.
In the dining room, the kitchen, and a wall of the bedroom,
a pattern of blue and red.
In the living room they are a beauty
of blue and red circle balls.
On the living room walls they are a pattern
of New York News
travelling in black and white,
telling the city’s story.
Small blue trucks with white lights
merge into the scene, quiet and pale.
A mystery. I touch them.
I like the kittens. Eileen does too.