by Jennifer Hernandez
Chalk drawings of rainbows
and hearts in the windows
let me believe that
my mother will survive the full-
blown pandemic predicted to fill
emergency rooms two weeks
from tomorrow; even though her
oncologist is “on vacation”, Mom’s on the
road to recovery, or so we believe, since
Easter is nothing, if not a time to
trust the stories we tell ourselves. I whisper,
hum, chant, beg, pray that
every little thing will be alright, like it
says on the sign at the house on
tenth street, where the couple sits
on camp chairs in their driveway sipping
rum and cokes, waving and smiling at
me, as I walk, walk, walk my old black lab.
Jennifer Hernandez lives in Minnesota where she teaches immigrant youth and writes poetry, flash, and creative non-fiction. She has performed her poetry at a non-profit garage, a taxidermy-filled bike shop, and a community garden. Recent publications include Ekphrastic Review, Talking Stick, Verse-Virtual, and Silver Birch Press. Sabiyha Prince is an anthropologist, artist, and author based in Washington, DC. Her books and essays explore urban change and African American culture, and her paintings and photo collages grapple with memory, identity, kinship and inequality.
Global Poemic 