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In isolation during the pandemic I search for words. They are not
where I usually find them. Not at the grocery store. Not over a shared
dinner. The geese have come back and are showing off their
freedom. Gathering in flocks and making a ruckus that I eavesdrop
on. Maybe I will find a poem.
I have been previously published in The Fib Review, True Chili and in
Shot Glass Journal, once earning a Pushcart nomination.
I am alive in Canada watching the prairie reawaken in Spring and I am
blessed.
Shannon Joy Wazny
A Glinting Coloration Noses The Unwillingness
That red beam dazzles across the old-fashioned white shirt
she, that casts it, near smiles awaiting recognition
expecting the anger to ignite and dampen
under the strobe of the car's lights and the song of the siren
he obstinate and bewildered splashes foul words at her
just her, he doesn't even look at her partner
women are the focus of his rage
the marked man glances down and sees the laser sight
trained on his sternum
he bristles then relaxes
no longer needing to be brave