Fear Is...

Fear is a belly thing

is an animal circling to sit

restless in its pursuit of perfection

this can be a record of that

a record of the bees in me

the hive in my heart is

a constant zed, oscillating

I am counseling the queen

to hush and be still

but her drones are madness made real

and her subtle dance is alarming

I can feel my socks on a day like this

their tightness is a nuisance

my toes want the freedom to curl

and to touch and to breathe

I want to breathe, too

I want to lay in bed, half-laughing

breathing in soft happy chuffs

cool air on my shoulders

a bird in her nest

that fine image buoys for a while

until the magpie mouths open

and I cannot unhear-

the sweet cream curdles

Croatoan

--I wrote this the day before the pandemic became alarmingly real for me, 3/13/20. I had never witnessed panic among the public, and the pulsing of confusion, fear and worry was building to a crescendo. I can feel in my poetry from this time that same urgency. I told myself then, be realistic and scientific and you'll get through.--