New Facts (a prose poem)

History is collective memory, and it’s always subject to correction.

It’s written by winners, whether daughters of despots or democrats. They build bronze statues that inform us of what happened, who’s calling the shots, who owns the space you occupy.

As the city convulses, an ex-mayor’s monument is fractured, beat to the ground. Our historical texts must be rewritten, newspaper editors must be removed, the revolution must be televised and live streamed to your social media feeds, and you must forget what you’ve learned because

there are new facts.

(Photo by The New York Public Library on Unsplash)

Making Memories (a poem)

Heavy boxes stacked in the bedroom,

you’re moving again, amid the pandemic.

We’ll see another part of Philly, add to

the memories we’ve made – even if we’ll

be wearing masks and hunkering down.

We’ll find a new coffee shop, we’ll walk new

streets, taking pictures every so often

that’ll be in a book next year that celebrates

our time together.

(Photo by Josh Hild on Unsplash)