Fold and Press

That hissing sound

Of low-grade dread,

That silence of

pent-up distress 

as we fold up and on and in and press.


Life is untethered 

It’s light as a feather

We’re stiff as a board

While we wait and we hoard.


It’s April, then May 

like a miracle, they say, it’ll disappear, 

one day, 

or maybe next year.


Spring came undone

On the tip of the tongue

The candied before

Ground down to a core

The heaving of old 

Hides away as if gold.


That solid gold

Of a simple hold

On hold for April and then for May


Like a miracle they say, it’ll disappear, one day, one day,

or maybe next year.


And maybe we wait and maybe we’re bored

As thousands stack up all stiff as a board

Can’t bring light to the body

In this house out of mind

Out of body,

Pressed in

Folded up

Folded in 

Pressed tight as a feather

We press and we fold

We hold on tight 

For April and May

And like a miracle, they say,

We may disappear,

One day, one day

Or maybe next year.

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Samples from this poem were used in a piece of the same name, as part of The Extradition Series’ Social Distancing Project. Listen on SoundCloud here!


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