A pandemic poem from March 2020, the week the world stopped.
Hauntingly precise.
"their place settings untouched / by fingers that suddenly might kill" is Edgar Allan Poe-like. And the kicker is just that, in all senses. I read it twice, more slowly on repeat.
Well-crafted, Ted.
Thank you!
Well said. It blows my mind that five years has passed. We still have shelves in the basement full of canned goods hoarded that month.
I remember in those early days you and I trying to game out the question: What IS this, actually?
Hauntingly precise.
"their place settings untouched / by fingers that suddenly might kill" is Edgar Allan Poe-like. And the kicker is just that, in all senses. I read it twice, more slowly on repeat.
Well-crafted, Ted.
Thank you!
Well said. It blows my mind that five years has passed. We still have shelves in the basement full of canned goods hoarded that month.
I remember in those early days you and I trying to game out the question: What IS this, actually?