Recurrence
What was it my father said to me
when I forgot to latch the gate
and we spent the night in the woods
searching for eyes among shadows
of tree trunks cast by flashlight?
Who to Trust
The man sits comfortably on three liters of nasal canula as I peer into his ED room.
He laughs as I enter with a mask, a face shield, a gown and gloves: all standard protocol for “PUIs,” patients under investigation for COVID. He has good reason to laugh. I look ridiculous.
“You scared of me ol’ boy?” he states in the familiar rural twang of our region.
“Shoot, I ain’t scared. I believe I could whoop you without wrinkling my dress here!”
We both laugh. He can hear I grew up close by.