Panic (Phase One)

Death, now?
Will I be ready, know?


Should I take my temperature,
clean the house, give away


stocked food, paper goods?
Is there an escape, emergency kit?


Disinfected, bought extra meds.
Any pain? Call the doctor?


Will the hospital accept me
in my condition?


Am I the right age to get in?
Will I be ready, know?


Can someone tell me,
Is this my time?

Desire Amid Triage

When the bomb hit, did you think
the day would be so grand, autumn
leaves glistening in a sure morning sky?


Amid sirens and triage teams,
did you think children would be off
to learn, parents clinging to them?


Pharmacies closed but you could buy
warm bagels at David’s before lining up
to give blood at Beth Israel.


Within this hushed city of missing persons,
did you think we would find each other
with even more desire?

Necessary Reversal

(Daylight Savings Ends)



Scant light flirts with winter clarity.
Necessary reversal truncates day.
Touch evasive, dormant


you hole up with Neruda,
inventing a night of
alluring shadows.



Both witness and subject in these formidable times, I stand grateful for the written word as well as privilege of writing. Through my soul’s inner eye, I hope to depict some piece of experience, meaning and beauty even, in what we confront and endure as human beings.


With vast appreciation and honor, I carry always the faith in myself as a poet from my late poetry mother, Colette Inez, my luminous friend, Molly Peacock, and Dean Kostos, incisive reader of my poems.