Pandemic Poems - APRIL 2020
Penelope Moffet
penstemon1@gmail.com
Author's Note: In the early days of the pandemic (Southern California version) it seemed I had nothing to write about and no energy to write that nothing. Then I began making notes about some of my late-March/early-April dreams. Those notes turned into this poem.

Unicycle

One night a woman
turns into a marble,
shedding legs, torso, arms, neck
so she can spin across a floor.
Waves lap the tile,
wash away her limbs.
 
And then another woman
desperate for meat
tries to kill a baby.
Inept flashes of a knife 
and a bloody cradled 
infant crying.
 
But then a doctor 
speaks his heart to me,
is stunned when I
accept him 
despite quarantine.
 
As early as I can
I sink into 
my California king,
tell myself the plague 
can’t visit when I sleep.
©2020 Penelope Moffet
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