—RABBIT, RABBIT

 

afterward

 

the wind asks me

who am I after 

the pandemic

so I draw answers 

from a worn 

Ouija board 

that hasn’t seen 

the light in that space 

between twilight 

and total darkness 

on the razor-edge of 

depression and trying 

to fool myself 

as well as 

everyone I know 

and afterward everyone 

I know thinks they 

know me but how 

can they when I 

don’t know myself 

when my lungs fill 

with black mold 

and I’m too old for 

promotion or a publicist 

as I sit and swing 

in a yellow chair 

watching the waves 

spread and weave 

like a virus that 

has both nowhere  

and everywhere to go