^{after Jericho Brown}

A poem can spasm, stretch, but it can let salve in.
There aren’t enough pages for the longing.

           There aren’t enough pages for the longing
           drenched in medicine bottles and ice packs.

Drenched in medicine bottles and ice packs,
our aches sing beyond joints and stethoscopes in denial.

           Those who sing beyond joints and stethoscopes in
           denial, how do the symptoms stack your days?

Let’s name the stacks of dangerous symptoms:
News coverage, the state, strangers who say the pandemic is over.

           News coverage, the state, strangers who say the pandemic is over
           as I dream about a world that celebrates all of us.

As I dream about a world that celebrates all of us fully,
Let’s allow poems to stretch. Let the salve in.