Tagged: counting

here comes month nineteen

i was never good

i was never good
at guessing the number of
jelly beans in a

jar, and so began the habit
of counting everything else
.
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nine months and counting,

nine months and counting,
we wait to be reborn into
some semblance of a

post-pandemic world – the end
is clearly not at all in sight
.
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even now, we are

even now, we are
counting up and counting down –
the wait, our lives spent
.
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** in the absence of The Daily Post from WordPress, here’s your daily prompt: counting

maybe there were three

maybe there were three
more sirens than there used to be
in the middle of

the night, even in brooklyn, we
started counting, newly alert
.
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y

** in the absence of The Daily Post from WordPress, here’s your daily prompt: alert

on day 104

on day 104
or 105, in between
counting and waiting,

there will be seconds when i
will forget that i am waiting
.
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on day eighty-five,

on day eighty-five,
doubt looks too familiar,
perhaps closer to

day sixty, smiling like thirty,
naïve like eight, aching like one
.
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y

this morning, on day

this morning, on day
seventy-eight, the waning
gibbous moon stayed up

long enough to laugh at me,
or console – its face was so smooth
.
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by day’s end, we are

on the lunar

(for grandpa)

on the lunar
calendar, we
are celebrating
our birthdays
today, just one
world away
from each
other,
which feels
like multitudes,
on and off
the system
for counting
so many days
apart
.
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