You remember how it was—
the tree your father cut,
your brother and you, tinsel
everywhere. The strands of bulbs
that wouldn’t light. You hold it
close—the laughter, the warmth.
True, your parents argued,
your brother teased.
But in your later years,
you choose the versions
that sustain you.
Jennifer L. Freed writes mostly poems and sometimes writes very short stories.
Every shelf, every drawer, every closet packed with precious trinkets and antique books and 50-year-old rulers, knitting needles, lace.
I find my father’s WW II dog tags, my mother’s middle school history notes. A box of radio tubes from before transistor radios.
Dense layers of things separating them from death.
Jennifer L Freed writes mostly poems, and sometimes very short stories. Find her at @jenniferfreed20 or jfreed.weebly.com.
When the clusters of doctors come making their rounds,
she’s sorry there aren’t enough chairs.
She lets them ask all their questions, feel her pulse,
shine their lights in her eyes,
then apologizes—she can’t offer coffee or tea.
When they smile their goodbyes,
she invites them to visit again.
Jennifer L Freed writes mostly poems, and sometimes very short stories. Find her at @jenniferfreed20 or jfreed.weebly.com.
Sitting in the morning
window, I gaze
at gray sky, gray trees,
curving tracks
in fresh spring snow.
Then a flicker, blue flutter—
quick color just beyond
the frame of my gaze.
I turn. Nothing
there, yet something
has shifted the beginning
of today. Some silent wing,
lifting the air.
Jennifer L Freed writes mostly poems, and sometimes writes very short stories. Please visit her website at jfreed.weebly.com.
Rachel’s been furloughed; she can’t afford to have groceries delivered.
She lives with her 78-year-old mother. Her teenage daughter has asthma.
She takes a spare mask from her purse and holds it out to the young woman picking through the peaches. “Please. It’s not for your freedom; it’s for ours.”
Jennifer L Freed writes mostly poems, and sometimes writes very short stories. Please visit her website at jfreed.weebly.com.
She knows the length of air
will stiffen towels, shirts, jeans,
but doesn’t care.
She likes watching, from the kitchen window,
how sunlight pushes shadow
along draping cloth.
Later, folding sheets against her chest,
she inhales. How do you name this? The balm
of this scent, fresh
off the line.
Jennifer L Freed mostly writes poems, which appear or are forthcoming in various journals and anthologies. Her website is jfreed.weebly.com
Scent of mown grass. Faint jingle of Brody’s tags, and the pull of his leash in her palm.
Down the street, Milo and Sasha splashing in the pool, and little Ben crying, “Wait for me!”
Then the honeysuckle sweetness hedging the Jones’ yard. She’d hardly noticed before her vision dimmed.
Jennifer L Freed mostly writes poems, but likes 50-word stories. Her website is jfreed.weebly.com.
They scheduled routine check-ups, but the doctors were gone. They were tended by interns.
They sent children back to school. Half the teachers were gone.
So it went: at police stations, town halls, colleges, labs—everywhere, those with the most experience to pass on were either sick, or already gone.
Jennifer L. Freed mostly writes poems, which have appeared in various journals and anthologies. Her website is jfreed.weebly.com
Brittney is young, healthy, so she’s not worried. She and her friends gather in each other’s apartments, sharing beer and restlessness, missing Real Life.
Then Brittney’s neighbor—the retired kindergarten teacher she buys groceries for—tests positive.
Finally the headline sinks in: Brittney and all her friends could be carriers.
Jennifer L Freed mostly writes poems, which have appeared in various journals and anthologies. Her website is jfreed.weebly.com
A year later, we give thanks—
that it was then, not now,
that we could be there
in the hospital with him, for days,
that so many friends could come and go,
give last goodbyes, lean close,
and not once did any of us worry
about sharing the same air.
Jennifer L Freed mostly writes poems, which have appeared in various
journals and anthologies. See more on her website: jfreed.weebly.com.