The way waves of wind push the cloud
of starlings forward. The way crows
own the bright blue playground.
The way I no longer count Covid stats
or the days since my mother's passing.
The way we expect to be lied to. The way
we cannot stay present but for a moment,
the way a moment passes into memory.
The way we've forgotten ancient lessons.
The way we dismiss our dreams.
The alarm of clocks, the desire to turn back.
The weight of each step, one foot, another.
Shirtsleeves on the clothesline beckon.
Light trembles in—
Debra Kaufman is the author of the poetry collections God Shattered, Delicate Thefts, The Next Moment, and A Certain Light, as well as three chapbooks, many monologues and short plays, and five full-length plays. Recent poems appeared or are forthcoming in Poetry East, North Carolina Literary Review, Tar River Poetry, and The Phare. Debrakaufman.info