noun
the sampling of amniotic fluid using a hollow needle inserted into the ******, to screen for developmental abnormalities in a fetus.

...

Not everything about you
is on that little screen; 
not in your number of chromosomes,
not in your misshapen genes. 

Yet everyone talks about you,
as if they know you:
"impaired cognitive abilities"...
"50% chance of being stillborn"...
"impacts the family unit"...

Your life and capacity for love
will never be defined by your DNA,
but rather by your smile and
your laughter and 
your heart
and
and
and
...

In short, my love, 
you cannot be defined by what is missing
but rather by what you can
and will be when you arrive 
in all your humanity

Chicken tenders and chicken wings,
I love all those chicken things.
But if you asked me about my own,
I would say "leave them alone".

When I compliment you
I'm not handing out an invitation
to the 'compliment exchange party'
(meaningless)

I'm not asking for validation,
or pointless "you too"s.
You'll know I am sincere
when I move on
not hesitating,
or waiting for
a return.

Just accept it -- or don't.
Either way, I sent it your way.
But I don't have a return address.

S
o
I                       I
hear                guess  
you're             I                    G
somewhere    should         o    
new --             have             away          H              
                        known         at                 o
                        you'd           some           w
                                             point.           s
                                                               ­   a
                                                            ­      d.

snow
          f
             a
                l
                   l
                      s
    (silently)

The black cat sat on the road of the sideways door and asked me to ask a question unanswered by the universe, for it seemed a little trepidation to ask such a stranger as me whose permanence like the door has gone beneath the waves of light and into darkness below the sun and stars, deeper than the night-cat’s fur. Yet I knew the answer and asked the question, and the stars gleamed brighter that rust, and the galaxies I saw were within the slitted eyes before my face, though I did not fall to my forgottenness in that galaxy, but lived in my ghostly form, unanswering questions of old and trying not to remember my thoughts. The cat was unknown to me after that, the tail like a feather duster leaping among the moons of my world, crowing down at me from branches and constellations. I wonder how the universe would think of such a black cat, one who does not mind the coldness of ghosts or stars, or the unknowingness of such things, and who asks for askers and questions them until the dust settles and transforms around it.

Here I am
staring at pixelated people
and I want so desperately to see them
face to face.
My eyes ache from blue light.
Why are we even trying?

Ugh.

We are alone.
Isolated like islands
in a sea of disease
and fear.

But.

I called an elderly lady today
just to check in
since I can't see her
or listen to her talk
about doilies and dinners and memories

And.

I understood then --
alone does not mean apart
and distancing does not mean forgetting.
Yet I forgot.

So.

I'm not giving up
on the light of the summer
to chase away the winter blues
and diseases.

No matter what keeps us apart,
we are here
a safety net of helping hands and words
we are unity.

When I am outside I am content,
until I grow too warm
and humid
and long to be
inside.

And when I am inside,
I long for the sunlight
and the lazy summer wind,
and I shiver
and can’t make up my
mind.

As I was watching the clock,
the little gray one in the corner,
I thought I saw the hands falter
at one.

And when I blinked again,
the clock I could not see,
for it had blended in with
the night.

Time warp-wraps around me,
tendrils pulling my hair
and floating across
my eyes.

Like dragonfly wings,
an iridescent sheen
plays behind my eyelids
unfocused blur

But when I look in the periphery
I see my tangled self and
the short days blending
all together.

Like milky cataracts
quarantine is blinding.
And so begins
quarantime.

I broke all the rules today
got out of my car -- no mask --
and ran
to hug my friends.

Quaran-time is one day and night,
there is no structure or routine,
just going, going, gone...
But the sun on my face
and my friends beside me
snapped me back
to now

Then the goosebumps on my arms
and the light behind the clouds
reminded me --
I was breaking the rules.

But I don't care.

Sorry that I forget about you,
when you're swimming in the grime and muck
when you're gasping and begging

Sorry that I contain you
to a small, boring tank
to a life of circles and roundabouts

Sorry that I don't care about you
I know I should do more
I know I won't do more

Sorry that I am giving you away.
maybe you'll be happier there
maybe you'll forget about me

Like I forget about you.

To the Bees -
it's about time
you took a break;
I'm quite worried about your health.
You are so dedicated, working
all day
to visit the flowers and trees.

But Bees -
I hate to tell you -
I really do;
But one of you,
yes, just one,
makes so little honey.
In a lifetime.

So Bees -
why don't you take a break
from humming, flying,
serving others
and no benefit you yourself.
Take some me-time bee-time,
the flowers will live;
mostly.
Don't worry,
someone else
will come...

When I woke this morning
the tears were there,
brimming like a lake behind
the mountains of my skull.

But I pulled back the heavy curtains
and golden light suspended me above the flood.
Hope swam, scales shining, and bloomed on the shore.

Then died
as I peaked through the blinds
to see ashen houses huddling in the rain.

Light lies.

And so the tears rose,
cold and silent behind the dam,
waiting to be released --
a perfect equilibrium settled on the surface
yet one stone would send ripples through my veins.

So it came.
An avalanche of stones smothered me,
the lake rising until it spilled over the edge,
through my sockets
and I became the rain.

Nothing can distract me from the storm in my head.

If I could make the sound of cortisol
pumping through my veins,
it would sound like quarantine

Empty, but full of fear
Tired, but unable to stop moving
Alone, but surrounded by whispers

And here I am, stressed
about homework

reflections on wet cement
like frosted glass
show the periphery,
the indefinite form
of me
as I stand in
line, waiting
for someone to validate
my humanity
my definity