336 Hours Indoors

Part of Pandemic: A Collection
by L Gengler

When I am getting to the end of a large bag of popcorn sometimes I pour the fractioned kernels into a bowl and eat them with a spoon.

The first days three were a time of mourning. It was three identical birds, perched on three identical mailboxes on a Sunday morning.

It is hard to be alone when it feels like individualism is an antagonist. 

If I was intuition, where I would be hiding. 

A Time of Great Loss.

I have taken up reading Tarot Cards. 

When the tower falls, in its wake smolders an opportunity to build again. 

Mantra for a maiden voyage. 

I’m not scared of Bloomer. Though it is haunted and I still know everyone who works at the gas station. The fear is of settling, getting stuck, being stagnant, staying still. 

A sticky, sickly web whose life depends on the flies trapped to it. We all have to eat.

I am having a funeral for me.

You are invited to the horror of the tenants whose apartments border mine.

I have taken up singing.

I have realized that the selves that live in different circles look like distant relatives. 

I suppose I will have to do something about that.

We have some space between 

the realization and

the implementation 

We have a lot more time for looking.

L Gengler  is an interdisciplinary artist and writer who has found herself in Chicago by way of New York by way of Minneapolis from Bloomer, Wisconsin. She is a Patti Smith enthusiast and avid collager.

Illustration by Raven Mo