Both Peaceful and Not Peaceful: Shaina Clingempeel

April 23, 2020, Kate Belew With Shaina Clingempeel

The flowers kept their color long after they died.

If I could, I would breathe their petals into light.

But I breathe grief, newly. 

Between phone lines & fire escapes, what binds us

is our collective cluelessness and sorry, wait, what, and 

still too many arm spans apart to say

anything quietly that you could hear.

It's silent in my home, save the dishwasher's drull drone

and there is something both peaceful and not peaceful.

Though I cannot step outside, I keep opening the blinds

a shot in my own black and white movie

like the mid-state between waking life & dream.

If I could I would call to you in this space of

ill-lit rooms I return to, where night looks much like day

I thumb through a book and barely read it

bear witness to the minutes more than living them.