the sun keeps rising
and he bought a screen for pics
of all our travels
it can’t be the same
but the sun will rise again
and we’ll try again
Coronatine, Day Sixty-four
poetry
Coronatine, Day Sixty-three (Teen Social Distancing)
together, apart:
this is how they live with me
sharing, not sharing
Coronatine, Day Sixty-two
we’ve risen at dawn
for two months of lonely walks
but look at our view
Coronatine, Day Sixty-one
I went to the grocery store today, and I don’t want to write about the nightmare I had last night where no one was wearing a mask.
Could you imagine, three months ago, having a nightmare about people not wearing masks in Target?
Actually, King Soopers was well-stocked today. Everyone I saw had a mask on. People at 8:30am obeyed the one-way aisle rules, and best of all? I stayed within my budget.
I made a budget for my post-work husband, starting at the beginning of May. $200 a week. It may sound extraordinarily excessive, but we’ve got six mouths to feed, and these are American prices, after all.
But I bought extras today. This bugleweed. A roll of packaging tape. And sushi because fuck Wednesday cooking.
And, my nightmares should end soon.
Because my post-work husband got a job, a non-union, non-seniority-screws-you job, doing exactly what he’s great at and wants to do forever, in the midst of a pandemic.
And.
And you can call it what you want. White privilege. True. Luck. Absolutely. Divine intervention. Maybe.
Or just… fate. The fate that led him through the Air Force to me, that led the boy to our doorstep, that led three beautiful daughters into our home, that led his previous experience to him becoming the best candidate out of all the others being laid off.
Coronatine, day sixty-one. It’s a beautiful image filled with pets, hope, and love.
And I want to hold on to this non-nightmare feeling for as long as I can.
And.
This cat was born to be a model. Good night.
Coronatine, Day Sixty
like a pregnant mom
i wait for this peony
(bring blossoms, bring hope)
the first bloom beckons
all that is good on this Earth
(even the ants know)
Coronatine, Day Fifty-nine
huevos rancheros
just like in a restaurant
(what i miss today)
Coronatine, Day Fifty-eight (Mother’s Day)
we’re stepping outside
into this beautiful yard
to celebrate love
it’s a bit risky
and only sixty degrees.
but it’s Mother’s Day.
each girl made a card
and worked to include this boy
in conversations
it’s as good as weeds
ripped from choking my garden
so beauty can breathe
Coronatine, Day Fifty-seven
if i could be a cat
curled into this ball on a bed
unaware of what noise could keep me awake
unaware of human suffering,
of parenting four teens too afraid to talk to each other,
too afraid to talk to me,
too afraid to build relationships
(so much like their mother, their father, this fear)
(but he isn’t even ours, how is he so much like us?)
unaware of the world outside of this fluff,
this sumptuous, protective ball of fluff,
maybe i’d be a cat.
but i’m only human
and have brought these girls into the world
and this boy into our home
and the world came corona-crashing soon after
and we only have each other
in this lonely, empty house
in this loud-mouthed, angsty house
in this loving, hating house
we don’t have this bed, this softness, this protection.
we can only find these feelings in words.
small gestures.
trying to speak new languages.
trying to see who or what we don’t notice.
trying to find this level of peace,
this cat-comfort peace,
with each other.
Coronatine, Day Fifty-six
can you imagine
that after twenty-two-years
i could still panic?
panic at the thought
of what my life would be like
without his presence?
five hours today.
five hours with no contact.
(he had lost service)
he always answers.
he is that reliable.
committed for life.
if that is not love,
that a dead zone break scares me,
i don’t know what is.
Coronatine, Day Fifty-five
and from this soil
from blustery spring breezes
good news can blossom
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