Write Out the Year December 16!

Workshop Zoom link: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/89460271088

POEM:

CAN’T COMPLAIN

Martha Silano

I mean, at least it’s not 106 degrees. At least I’m not hearing
a loud popping sound in my knee, followed by swelling.
I had no idea those pops are referred to

as pathological noise. What a great name for a band.
But seriously, I’m good. Hoping for the same
with you—no aphids in your begonias,
no sore senses or Columns

of Creation pain. I hope your cupboards shine like Orion.
That humor hangs in your closet with the raincoats,
that you haven’t been ejected

from the room of ineffable calm, that your days are more freesia,
less filth. I heard on the radio yesterday we need to cut
emissions by 45%, like, now, but it turns out

most countries are having trouble cutting them by 3%. Who-ee,
it sounds like 2030’s gonna be soggy. We’ll all be sporting
flame-retardant flight dresses for the wildfires I doubt

will be canceled. What shoes pair well with my drenched-pot-roast
shift? I was thinking a strappy mountain-high sole
with an electrically spinning heel.

Also, a vibrating instep. At the not-prom, we’ll swap our favorite
pre-mass-extinction tales, awake until the stars extinguish
like wicks. But enough about me: what will you be

for Halloween? I was thinking I’d be a belly-dancing zombie queen,
stand at the door with a bowl of Skittles, evoking terror
in the beatifically brave come-knockers. Here,
let me pin that corsage. I always loved

orchids—too bad yours got scorched on its little foray to a planet
some idiots think we can live on. O, space! O, to fall
into the arms of a gap of blue. Not that I’m blue,

but really, I hope you’re well, that your wheeee hasn’t cracked,
that your bones aren’t talking. I hope every other minute
is a sparkler that never burns out.