By Nick Creel
Now I walk through these woods
probably the final time
eyes to the ground the mud
the snow not yet melting
it was a mistake to skip lunch
before we met
possibly the final time (possibly not)
you had a hike in mind
of course I obliged I ached
for fresh air and blood flow and
I had to keep moving.
We spoke mostly about worries
punctuated each other’s sentences with
words– what could I say without
leaking concern and
souring our walk with my tears?
I think you saw the pools
wax and wane with moments of
silence like tide so you spun tales of
bread and dogs and Zoom memes;
I am grateful for your kindness and
grace but what I wished for the most was
cure all illness in an
incredibly ill time.
Nick Creel (they/them) is a nonbinary poet and web developer currently sheltering-in-place in Massachusetts. Their hypertext chapbook Evidence (self-published, 2020) is available at ncreel.itch.io/evidence. Their work is forthcoming and featured in Rejection Letters, Sludge, Petrichor, Déraciné Magazine, and Mineral Lit Mag, among others.
This piece is a part of DISTANCED 2.0.