{"id":62152,"date":"2020-06-27T09:47:36","date_gmt":"2020-06-27T13:47:36","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=62152"},"modified":"2020-06-27T09:48:54","modified_gmt":"2020-06-27T13:48:54","slug":"poetry-marathon-submission","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2020\/06\/poetry-marathon-submission\/","title":{"rendered":"Poetry Marathon Submission #1"},"content":{"rendered":"<pre>Life's Hero in a Pandemic, Poetry Submission #1, Ann WJ White\r\n\r\nMy mother sits in her living room,\r\npolishing grave stones from afar. \r\nShe paces back and forth on worn carpet,\r\nexercising her legs and mind.\r\nThe photos she takes from the window\r\nhighlight trees falling on the parking lot,\r\nworn people wearing masks, and there on the edge,\r\na man with a butcher knife yelling that\r\nlife isn't fair. Part of the neighborhood\r\nwatch, she calls the police, then walks down\r\nfour flights, her mask on tightly.\r\nFrom a distance, she informs him that he \r\nshould step inside, he's forgotten his mask\r\nand she would hate to see him pay\r\nthe price of someone else's infection.\r\nIt's not what he expects. It's not\r\nthe argument he craved. At eighty-four,\r\nshe is everyone's grandmother, elderly \r\naunt, mother, friend who speaks with a firm\r\nvoice that brooks no nonsense.\r\nSpeechless, he steps back into his apartment.\r\nShe has promised him an audience with the\r\npolice who have sped to the rescue at\r\nan apartment full of older people.\r\nThey arrive and she returns to her recording\r\nof the past so that others can find they way.\r\n\r\n<\/pre>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Life&#8217;s Hero in a Pandemic, Poetry Submission #1, Ann WJ White My mother sits in her living room, polishing grave stones from afar. She paces back and forth on worn carpet, exercising her legs and mind. The photos she takes from the window highlight trees&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1412,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,13,12,1136,441,5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-62152","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem","category-miscellaneous","category-musings","category-official-marathon-prompts","category-poetry-prompt-responses","category-poetry-prompts"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/62152","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1412"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=62152"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/62152\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":62343,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/62152\/revisions\/62343"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=62152"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=62152"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=62152"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}