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I sit at a table dodging plates as they
whirl top speed around a room. A plate
twirler drops wire on my head. My
right hand clenches emptiness when
I awake. A therapist friend asks about
the dream. I tell her first cancer
then surgery to excise. Then chemo,
then infection, then clot… Another
dream last night: our bathroom un-
renovated itself. Soap dish, recessed
in 1927 green tile, excised over twenty
years ago, rebirthed along with the old
sink & toilet, beige shag rug
camouflaging original blue & white
cracked mosaic floor. Why dream
of earthquaked walls, zigzagged
ceiling? Dream of plates spinning
like a virus that swirls around
a neighborhood? Hooking even ones
who still #waitforGodot to save their
lives, their livelihoods. Wild, unhinged,
loose-lipped virus spouting droplets
like delusions, like lies we dodge
with mask, glove. Lockdown. Unlock
all the medals––voracious medals,
purple hearts. Pin them on the soldiers
of the moment. Hook them gently––
ever so gently––around all the stressed
gowns of merit & devotion. And love.


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