Read More: A brief Q&A with Carol Tyx
Waking Up Without You
I am thirsty but
there is no water
because no one
refilled the glasses
by the bed. I am
smiling, thinking
about the metaphor
of the empty glass,
but there is no one
to see my face.
I stretch my arms
into the still early
without worrying
I might wake you
but there is no one
to put their arm
around me. I love
waking up with you
in the close together
and I love waking
in the wide alone
knowing I will be
waking up with you
tomorrow.
Moonrise
In the midst of it all—masks, massive layoffs,
jerry-rigged morgues—there is the moon,
or the hope of the moon, as we drive to the edge
of town and climb a hill where we wait with the bugs
and raccoons for something bigger and brighter.
When the sky remains silent, you wonder
if you have the right day. The bugs don’t seem to care
cavorting while we watch where the road meets the sky.
While I’m telling you a story about fireflies
I glance at the meadow below the trees […]
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Sheltering in the Moon
Let me tell you about waking
in darkness, slowly becoming aware
that you are still breathing, the air
effortlessly gliding in and out,
one more day of evading the virus.
Let me tell you about drifting
to the window, where beyond
my neighbor’s house, beyond the trees,
beyond the railroad track, the moon
waits for me, […]
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Carol Tyx lives in Iowa City, where she participates in the community sing movement and supports community-based agriculture. Her poetry has appeared in Concho River Review, Caesura, and Remaking Achilles: Slicing into Angola’s History. Currently Tyx is the artist-in-residence at Prairiewoods eco-spirituality center. She also makes a phenomenal strawberry rhubarb pie.
Read More: A brief Q&A with Carol Tyx