Mornings in the Neighborhood
by KATIA ZALKIND
These days I shop for gas masks,
buy coffee for strangers, take walks.
If you come early the grass blades
reflect the sun almost uniformly.
A walker’s hand flits blade to blade
with tiny greetings.
The slow camera of my gaze
sweeps to the water
which smells like sea, but isn’t.
At least the dogs are happy
and the wide-brimmed hats
are flowers bobbing in the sun.
Beyond the trees, the oboe is a mystery,
playing a childhood song.
Everything is soft and the last of its kind.
Katia Zalkind is a Chicago-based poet and science writer. They hold a PhD in cognitive neuroscience and have never been able to choose between science and poetry. Katia’s work has appeared in RHINO, where they were also an associate editor, as well as the North American Review, Oyez, Milk Magazine, and others.