There is a small Italian restaurant two blocks from my house in Inner N.E. Portland. It’s been there for decades.
Oh, food. It is such a deft [and daft] distraction. It absolutely changes the narrative.
We still can’t believe there’s nothing there at all but ugly. We feel woozy in his rank backwind.
It takes our breath away, virus or not. And nobody knows how to make the virus go away. And nobody knows when it’s leaving, or what it will look like tomorrow.
We panicked all evening, clearing our throats, secretly gargling with hydrogen peroxide.
And I was looking for barbarians. I still am. I always am. I’ve seen so many. Haven’t you?
ACM is pleased as punch that we get to publish Leanne Grabel’s work every month.