By Sophia Yakumithis

Not to point any fingers, but every few days my governor, Mike Dewine’s, wife has been  publishing suggestions as to how we, Ohians, should pass our time in quarantine. I think this is part-mechanism to restore good ol’ American values, part-trying to maintain order and discipline amongst binge shoppers. 

Some of her essentials, which were published on hastily colored scrapbook paper (probably a rainy day activity she did to keep her grandkiddos busy while she drank martinis in her bathroom), are recipes for various casseroles, microwave brownies, sidewalk chalk — you know, white people things. And everytime one of her suggestions is published, our governor acts like his wife just dropped the hottest mixtape, blasting that s— on his official Twitter.

Well, Fran Dewine, I took one of your suggestions. This week, I went through some old family photos. I found some funny stuff, but it didn’t lift my spirits at all. In fact, it just made me want prozac even more than I did before looking at the photos.

What I did stumble upon that I thought was worth noting, though, was a poetry chapbook I wrote in high school. And wow, is it good. I’m not sure how my poetic justice came and gone, but I would like to use my platform to share these three works with the world. 

Free Verse: An Ode to Cookie Dough

You condemn the circumference 

of my waist

and fuel my appetite

Your taste makes it all worthwhile.

Sweet sinning;

it shouldn’t be a sin

Enjoyment is a privilege,

even if the eggs are raw.

The servings are ceaseless —

yields 12? 

More like 8, after I lick

the paddle

the whisk

the spatula

My one true love made Toll House famous

and my stomach sick

from abundance.

Amongst the Pigeons

At the park

Under the trees

Amongst the pigeons

Feeling the breeze

Glass Ceiling

Wake up on Nov. 9

glass all over the floor … 

We broke the glass ceiling! 

Dad, get the vacuum!

She did it! 

The first female in office!

What will we call Bill?

The first gentleman?

If only that were my current concern.

Instead, I weep for the future.