ALOPECIA

by Annie Cowell

My friend’s hair fell out.

Head, brows, lashes, body; every single hair.

One day she was lustrous, the next day naked. 

No explanation and no cure. Of course 

she will not die; there are 

far worse things to endure.

But for a while she could not face her world.

The daily chores, so simple and routine

became an endless round of hows and whys,

of sympathetic nods or stifled smiles.

And she felt lost, stripped bare;

her confidence destroyed.

And so she had her brows tattooed,

glued on false eyelashes,

bought wigs in different styles.

Found ways she could disguise the 

bald and brutal fact that

she would never feel, or look the same again.

Annie Cowell is a former teacher living in Cyprus. She has poems forthcoming in a number of publications. @AnnieCowell3

CAUTION

by David Chorlton

Arizona is reporting the highest rate of new coronavirus cases in the United States, as the state’s governor continues to resist calls to install strong restrictive measures. With an average of 118.3 new cases per 100,000 people, Arizona has become what health officials call the latest “hotspot of the world” because of soaring case loads. —The Guardian, January 7, 2021

Through the cold and shaded

lantana comes a rush

and a buzz from

the hummingbirds

who flash their purple in the grey

morning. The thrasher

recently arrived with  a scimitar

beak moves back

and forth between the seed block and

the water while once

the Cooper’s Hawk has been

and gone from the back

wall the African

lovebirds brighten

the air with their hungry calls. The other

news is all

dark suits and hospital

corridors, interrupted by happiness

staged to sell

new cars in a time of travelling

nowhere. Ten

thousand new cases today

in the state. Meanwhile

at the pond the Vermilion

Flycatcher works

the perimeter, and Northern Shovelers

mix with the Buffleheads and Pied-

billed Grebes. Sharp-witted

and shy, the coyote

down to drink

melts his frozen pose and slips

through an open gate,

wearing each moment’s light

as a changing disguise.

David Chorlton has lived for many years in Phoenix, close now to the city's large desert mountain park. He will have a new book of older poems published this year by FutureCycle Press, Unmapped Worlds.