Poetry of the first sheltering: June to election, 2020
Only a presidential term ago, we...and the world, sheltered at home, waiting for the Covid to find us. We were isolated, but weren't we all still a part of marches for George, mourning for Ruth, wishing to give more breath to those lives extinguished, and would we resound to vote? Each morning my husband put a cup of tea in my hand and sent me out to the garden with my journal to wrestle with the Universe. This book was found there.
Poetry of the first sheltering: June to election, 2020
Only a presidential term ago, we...and the world, sheltered at home, waiting for the Covid to find us. We were isolated, but weren't we all still a part of marches for George, mourning for Ruth, wishing to give more breath to those lives extinguished, and would we resound to vote? Each morning my husband put a cup of tea in my hand and sent me out to the garden with my journal to wrestle with the Universe. This book was found there.