My short hair grows
longer, and longer still.
The ends remember
they have cowlicks,
curling, some up, some
under. There’s no limit
The ends remember
they have cowlicks,
curling, some up, some
under. There’s no limit
to their acrobatics.
Baking in the Age of the Coronavirus
The dough had a mind
of its own. It was bread
all right, but it was going
to rise on its own terms.
With no yeast to be had
each baker, solo at home,
had to improvise.
Baking in the Age of the Coronavirus
The dough had a mind
of its own. It was bread
all right, but it was going
to rise on its own terms.
With no yeast to be had
each baker, solo at home,
had to improvise.
Karen Loeb finished a two-year stint (2018-2020) as writer-in-residence for Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Her fiction and poetry have appeared in Gyroscope Review, Halfway Down the Stairs, Hanging Loose, Pinyon, and other magazines. Her writing has won both the fiction and poetry contests in Wisconsin People and Ideas. Poems about the pandemic have appeared in Quaranzine, Volume One and forthcoming in March 2020 in a Bent Paddle Press anthology Sheltering with Poems.
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