chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

found poem: Just flower

found poem: between

found poem: in the world

found poem: to find a voice

Miracle Monocle

Thank you to Sarah Anne Strickley and the editorial staff at Miracle Monocle for featuring three of my found poems in Issue 14, produced in the midst of shutdowns and many inconveniences.

found poem: our afternoons

found poem: malicious

found poem: holed up

found poem: the seasons

found poem: landscape

found poem: I’m made

Psaltery & Lyre

found poem: we Wrote

found poem: your very nose

found poem: juicy

Aromatica Poetica

Aromatica Poetica is an online journal that celebrates the senses of taste and smell. I’m delighted that they have published five of my visual poems during National Poetry Month.

found poem: now

Subjectiv Journal

found poem: colors

poem

The evolution

For a while, in the first months
of the pandemic, you feared your hands:

that they might be the engine of your destruction,
grab from the air, from book or doorknob,

newspaper or broccoli, the errant cell calling
to your lungs. Those hands, lathered, rinsed,

laundry hung out in a dust storm, dragged back in,
washed again. And your face, itching, yearning

for them, abandoned lover. Later, the air itself
became suspect and you held your breath on the trail,

in the grocery store, at the mailbox. Yet, shocked
by your isolation, your fear of contamination,

you came to enjoy the whims of unstructured days,
the naps and chickadees and jigsaw puzzles.

You called old friends, cleaned cupboards, ticked tasks
off your list, learned new technology. You had

no passport, no visa for the country called the future.
The microorganism would stamp your documents,

or not. So you gardened as if someone else
might harvest the beautiful purple peapods,

the lettuce, even the sudden radishes.
And then, as predictions became less dire,

you discovered a new fear:
that life would return to normal.

© J.I. Kleinberg

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