A poem
Asked to list 10 things I’ve lost, I faltered.
A blue feather, favorite glove, newly cut
keys. Love and flexibility. You
asked me once if you had death inside
you and I lied. After the wake, I waded
through tall grasses—skin electric.
I felt guilty for happiness, that I was
able to undertake simple pleasures
like putting my face in the lilacs or
breathing in earth, after rain. I
listened to your last voice message
and when I looked on the screen
there were violets. I couldn’t list
10 things. Inside me, a sonata.
Outside, a day moon.
About the Author
J. Mae Barizo is the author of three books of poetry, including Tender Machines and Cloud Pantoums, forthcoming in 2027. Becoming Hybrid, a book of essays and conversations, will be out next year. She teaches at The New School.