Pan-Aca-demic

eighteen years finished 
with this mask that hides us all 
from society

Good Steps

three-thirty a.m.
my oldest’s footsteps. good steps.
intentional steps.

this is not a moon.
this is a lunar eclipse.
(Super-Flower-Blood)

and she’ll be gone soon.
(no early-morning steps).
and i. am. eclipsed.

shadows of loss win
the afternoon shines bright.
(we still have our moon)

vaccines could save us
(yet not from the ignorance
spread without needles)

you will never know
how perfectly blossoms bloom
after a cold spring

sometimes numbers lie
(yet, if you want to trade spots...
you might understand)

my sunflower girl,
her modernist self-portrait 
so true to her soul

recent immigrants 
cross the sea to wholly see
how corrupt we are

my girl’s accepted
into her dream universe 
filled with stardust, hope

words or lack thereof—
too many or not enough
yet never just right

no snow day for us
just the struggle through this path
that is this school year