• Carly Feinman

Day 19- 10.5.20

Today is everything, really

Today my mother turned fifty-nine

in three face masks and goggles

in the waiting room of a suburban hospital.

As her own mother sat alone in a paper gown

five stories up, she checked her work emails,

took a few deep breaths, and was promptly told

she was not permitted to go up--not today.

In a daydream, a seagull lent me her wings

and I soared over burning forests, the great ocean,

mountain ridges, and fields and fields of wheat

to deliver a hug gooier than honey

to the both of them.


Recent Posts

See All

Day 44- 10.30.20

The Statue Grove Standing at the base of this family of redwoods, I am enveloped in shadow, in mosquito swarms and in the lengthy lineage of these silent, stoic beasts. I wait a beat, before turning b

Day 43- 10.29.20

It's molten, this energy I go down to the park just as dusk reveals a full, yellow moon hanging high in the sky like a journeyman's handheld lamp. I hear them before I see them. The dogs. The dogs tum

Day 42- 10.28.20

Side Table Still Life An empty glass, a Biden mug, half full with this morning’s coffee, a dusty cotton lamp, and a pen balancing on a couple paperbacks.