I’m not saying –
To all the followers,
To all the friends,
To all the subscribers–
Anything about the terror
That is holding me so still.
So still I appear
Perfect–
So still I seem
Weighted–
So still I could be
The soaking cold
Night before
Spring dawns.
No.
I am, not.
Rather,
Electric, I am, in hateful waiting.
The stillness of
An alligator jaw.
My Dad Is Sick
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About the Author
Elizabeth G. Howard (she/her) explores gender, identity, and the natural world in her writing and art. She’s published in Tupelo Press, eMerge, American Craft Council, Boston Literary Review, Connecticut Poetry Society, and more. She writes Demand Poetry on her typewriter at live and virtual events. She calls Kansas City, London, and Iowa home.
