Liz Teuber


Riddle for the Age


What’s always at hand, keeping you connected, but distant?

Phantom buzz in your pocket, a fifth limb, already prosthetic

boredom expunged, we don’t remember how

dictionary goes from bore1 (boːrɛ)
          verb
          bore; 3rd person present: bores; past tense: bored; 
          past participle: bored; gerund or present participle: boring

          1.	make (a hole) in something, especially with a revolving tool.

to boreen1 (bo·reen) now.
          noun
          boreen; plural noun: boreens

          1.	a narrow country road.

Patience, a pre-2010 virtue, like eye contact in a room full of strangers

if everyone’s doing it, it can’t be that bad, said every lemming ever

over the cliff, over a decade ago, overwhelmed by constant accessibility 

we fall, in proportion to our pick-ups, decline like our mental health stats 

Liz Teuber is a mother, farmer, wife, divorcée, yoga teacher and avid forever student in the school of life. She divides her time between Vermont’s rural Northeast Kingdom and the metropolis of Burlington. An eclectic writer of poetry, CNF and fiction, her work has appeared in Discretionary Love and The Prairie Review. You can find her on instagram @liz_teuber.

 
 

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