May Day zoom writing workshop. A poem by Martin Rieser

I sit in the bright kitchen, dishwasher churring,
woolly clouds slowly passing, on a May morning.

A wind is blowing out there, beyond the panes,
beyond the loss of lockdown.

On the table- a blue glass jug full of wild carrot,
a bowl of apples, required vitamins,

rubber gloves and kitchen roll-
necessary reminders of Spring and of precaution.

Near me, the screen divides into nine squares of concentration
nine poets , mute in their writing bubbles.

Pens scraping at the comfort of isolation,
reaching below the page to the pain.

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