If I had a garret, a drafty, unheated, freezing upper-room sort of garret, I would be writing this there. The sickness is settling in in new ways–I feel I may be coughing by morning. I am too tired. But have done useful things. In spite of it. Not many, but a few. Tomorrow may be a day of nothing. Null and void as though God has turned his face away from the waters of my garret-tomb. Or I may be smiled upon and lay my hand to my spade and turn over entire fields of black earthy loam with one twist of my wrist. Or I may be sent a vision in a fever dream where everything is citrus and velvet and all the houses are castles with swirling turrets. Or I may be cast out into the utter darkness in which case I would never know at bit of it until I come back around again as star dust or feathery little quarks if they let me.
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covid, day the 4th
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godlikepoet
December 28, 2023
Last updated on December 28, 2023
Rebecca Cook lives in Chattanooga, TN. She grew up in North Georgia on a farm in Wood Station. She is a writer and visual artist, a writing teacher, an editor, and she has been known to preach in her local church, Grace Episcopal. She is a mom, a wife, and a homemaker/cook at present as she no longer works outside the home. She took her MA in English Literature (UTC), her MA in Rhetoric and Writing (UTC), and MFA in Creative Writing,--poetry, creative nonfiction, (Vermont College). She has published prose and poetry widely across the internet and in print magazines and journals.
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