a park the size of a sonnet
where I shelter, close to home
with my pup; people pushed away
like same-magnetic poles as though
winter never left. I stop
to pick up a fallen poem on the path,
the puppy doesn’t understand,
sniffing at a social distance, so I tug him in;
the walk is bordered by an empty jungle gym,
a skeleton against an overcast sky;
a desolate soccer field, a baseball diamond
frozen in a Field of Dreams with imaginary
players; people peering through their windows
anticipating Spring, and reawakening.
Annie Klier Newcomer lives in Prairie Village, Kansas with her husband, David and Aussiedoodle, Summit. She has a poetry chapbook with Finishing Line Press forthcoming; Comets: Relationships that Wander.
Annie teaches poetry and playwriting at Turning Point, a Center of Hope and Healing for people with chronic illness. She is also a poetry editor and contributor to Flapper Press.
Featured image by David Newcomer.
