If there be any virtue or any praise by Anna Gasaway

after Rick Barot

When any word is called for, say

that I am with. When weeds grow

taller than the grass, that is persistence.

An earthquake swings the house,

that is time’s pendulum. Clearing

a room with sage, sand made looking

glass. When a mosquito bites your inner ear, 

this is an invitation to listen. A dog vomits

on the rug, think of curtains snapping. A mother 

poisons herself with medications, think

relief. When a peacoat becomes frayed,

crumpled waves. When asthma closes

the throat, think Lot’s wife. When seagulls

steal your last Doritos, think of sand-worn

stone. When ravens whicker, laundry.

Anna Abraham Gasaway is an emerging, disabled writer who has published or will have work in Literary Mama, Corporeal, Roi Fainéant and others. She is an editorial assistant for Poetry International at San Diego State University, where she received her MFA in Poetry. She can be found on Twitter @Yawp97.

3 July 2023