In the past sixty minutes, the mother-poet has not written a dozen lines. Her resting heart rate crests 119 beats per minute twice a day, on average. This began in 2020; it is 2022. Of her three children, one kicks the table leg every seven seconds, another counts songbirds in the quarter-acre yard aloud, a third reads from a book of little-known statistics: The safest color car is white; two out of five people marry their first love; a woman is more likely to be killed by a champagne cork than a shark. In her inbox, a litmag says no thanks, but send more poems. In other news, a Japanese amusement park advises patrons scream inside their hearts. Sea level rise holds steady at one-eighth of an inch per year. Four out of five surveyed Americans are likely to describe the sun as shining. It is almost dinnertime; no trains leaving the station. There are over 10 trillion living cells in every human body. Based on this set of data calculate the future probable with a single roll of one icosahedron die.
Violeta Garcia-Mendoza is a Spanish-American poet, writer, photographer, and teacher. She is a member of Carlow University’s Madwomen in the Attic Writing Workshops and a reader for Split Rock Review/Press. Her work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Peatsmoke, District Lit, and Saint Katherine Review. Violeta lives with her family in Western Pennsylvania.
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