by Moira Magneson
After William Blake
Each day
I am thunder-
struck by the
howling storm
of lies, the fly-
swarm pox.
O beloved rose,
I am through
pretending
I could ever know
anything.
No wits about me.
What is left
is simply local
noticing—sugar
dissolving in
a cup of tea.
The sharp stink
of skunk on
the country road.
The mourning
dove's tender
three-note woe.
Moira Magneson calls the Sierra foothills home and has taught English for many years at Sacramento City College. Prior to teaching, she worked as a river guide throughout the West. Her work has appeared in a variety of journals and anthologies, including Persimmon Tree, Plainsongs, Canary, and California Fire and Water—a Climate Crisis Anthology. She looks forward to the day when our nation will no longer be in thrall to the 45th president.