Prescriptions Written in Calligraphy
The pharmacy across from the rec center
just started doing it—flourished capitals,
swans in the tails of the y’s,
the refill date looped like a lasso.
But no matter how the ink curls,
the pills still rattle in their plastic drum,
chalk dust lining the childproof lid
like it’s been counting the days, too.
You can pour them into a crystal dish,
light candles, put on string quartets;
it’s still a little white moon
meant to vanish down your throat.
About the Author: Jeremy was inaugural the poet laureate of Parma, Ohio (’22-’24). He has authored three books: We Grow Tomatoes in Tiny Towns, The Less Traveled Street, and The Details Will Be Gone Soon. He hosts the Ohio Poetry Association’s podcast Poetry Spotlight, runs the West Side Poetry Workshop, and founded the Flamingo Writers’ Guild.
Image Credit: Chase Dimock “Spilled Pills” (2025)
As It Ought To Be 