by Audrey Mei
Air, speak to me, whisper my fate.
My soul wearies while fourteen dawns wait.
Forever with you, or dying alone?
Twists of silence, the maddening unknown.
A cloud of bats opened the gate.
The future once festive, vibrant, ornate;
Suspended hypotheses, transmission, mutate.
Now what, how long? Keys, doorknob, stone?
Air, speak to me.
The virus is wordless, transcending debate
'Tween soldiers for science and masquerades of old hate.
Fists pounding for answers as the anchor was thrown
A fortnight ago, follies never atoned.
Steal me away, sedate, intubate.
Air, speak to me.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Audrey Mei is a writer, musician, mother, and therapist based in Berlin and San Francisco. Her poetry has appeared in Gangway Literary and Ascent Aspirations Magazines, among others, and her short story, The Language of Children, was named Honorary Mention for Glimmer Train's Family Matters contest. Audrey's novel, Trixi Pudong and the Greater World, was a finalist for the Foreward Reviews Multicultural Fiction award in 2016.
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