There is a loneliness
That resides in our close quarters,
An unspoken sadness,
An anger,
About the fear we speak of
But dare not name,
We are all knowingly closer to death,
And on the precipice, it is terrifying,
To see each other,
And wonder how long we have,
Before the unknown swallows again,
Before our hellos are really goodbyes,
The moments of nothing
Seem wasted,
And yet are our precious lasts,
To be with and be here in
Tag: covid-19
New “Normal”
Return to normal?
Who has that power?;
To quell disease that now eradicates?;
To bring back lives since lost?;
To restore security in most anything?
How foolish to talk of such fantastical things,
When reality has been brutally clear,
This is the new normal,
My dear.
I Beg it Doesn’t Go
I want to comfort you,
With words that I fight back,
Because they would be lies,
In honesty,
I don’t know,
I don’t know how this will all work out,
If plans will be dashed,
If,
When sickness will hit us,
If death will miss us,
There is so much,
I do not know,
So much you should not have
To be weary of,
To be aware of,
All I know to do,
Is hold you as close
As I possibly can,
And pray away the virus,
Which your way,
I beg it doesn’t go.
Steadily
Beloved,
Wherever you are,
Wherever you go,
May you be guarded,
From miniscule forces
Of great resolve,
May your lungs expand and contract,
Steadily,
May the spirit of life,
Watch over you,
Of this I pray.
Vital Importance
Little one,
I know it’s scary,
This world you’ve been thrust upon,
The words you must hear,
Rushed and forced through uncertain adult mouths,
Pay no mind to the quivering in my voice,
As I instruct you time and again,
Again
And again,
On the vital importance
Of washing your hands.
The New Real
My body is a liability,
I am diminished in my capacity,
As a viral assault occurs outside my door,
I am isolated by my own vessel’s vulnerability,
A contagion of which I fear to be host,
Inside my domain I am safe
Safer,
With potential hazards in every touch,
On every surface,
This is psychosis inducing phobia
to remain in such a context,
And yet here we all are,
In our mutual panic rooms,
Or out in denial of the risk,
We are unwilling hosts in waiting,
all,
Distant,
shut in,
This is the new
Real.
She of Letters 