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The world is burning–and still, the sun blooms at 6:04. Someone loses everything,and a stranger leaves tulips on their doorstepwith no note,just hope wrapped in stems. I hear sirens,but then a child sings off-keylike she invented joy that morning. I see wars and wounds and headlinesthat bleed out louder than my thoughts–but then a hummingbird…
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What is the curefor all this madness?I can’t even cross the streetwithout imagining my obituaryin a headline that spells my name wrong. A child screamsbecause the iPad died.His mom scrolls TikTokwhile holding up the drive-thru line.The chicken nuggets are cold.The world is ending. Becky is at the counter again–petitioning for paper strawsin a plastic cup.She…
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