Poetry | Prose
A Year Later
A year ago was me at the grocery store
buying camping supplies a day early because
I got wind of a growing panic.
Endless lines, unease building.
The lady behind me asking if I had a horse
because of the size of bag of carrots I was buying.
Me thinking — I can wait to get Easter candy.
The drive out to the Chihuahuan Desert
punctuated by worried daughter texts:
Will I be able to co me back home.
What if I get stuck in Utah.
Us reassuring, come hell or high water,
even if we have to drive up there, you’ll get back.
The question in every face at the campsite.
The one jackass who insisted on blaring
Bernie’s speech from his car stereo, even though
we were all there to escape politics.
All except him, I guess.
The applause when he turned the damn thing off.
The day after we left, they shut the park down.
Within a week, they’d shut school down…
