poetry

Coronatine, Day Twenty-two

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dough starts the morning

(impossible sourdough)

kneading, needing, rest.

victory garden

burns through this false spring sunshine

as we drill, hammer

my boy is fearless

removing every last leaf

from our high-pitched roof

my girls love salad

work the seeds into the ground

ready, row by row

we plant potatoes

in our newly-built raised bed

(plants will save us, right?)

it angles others

in defiance of the times

(ready to win this)

my baby makes art

a YouTube challenge (with hearts)

and we win this day

just in time for bread

that rises as the sun sets

we are safe. and well.

Coronatine, Day Twenty

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all i got today:

twin cars for a wasted trip

exposing us all

Resist Trump

Coronatine, Day Nineteen

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weekdays are now strange

because today i did no work

and yet worked so hard

shopping for parents,

cycling thirteen miles,

playing badminton

trying to battle

all the darkness that surrounds us

with blue skies and sun

Coronatine, Day Eighteen

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should i skip a day?

is the sunrise worth noting?

will it save us all?

bare naked branches

waiting for a better spring

and a lifted tail

Colorado blue

that everyone came here for

ready to break you

(could you be grateful?

could you ride/walk/talk it out?)

Could that save him? No.

so I’m bitter. Yes.

afraid, bitter, hopeful. spent.

like a sunrise. Lost.

Coronatine, Day Seventeen

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badminton trials

building weights with drills and logs

and making meringues

not a perfect day

(no day lived in fear can be)

but we’re sure trying

Coronatine, Day Sixteen

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a neighborhood walk

(though not in my neighborhood)

is good for the soul

Coronatine, Day Fifteen

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views from nearby walks

are all we have at this time

to get us through this

Coronatine, Day Thirteen

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i broke free today

with packets for every kid

(delivered by me)

and to top it off

i made me a home office

for online learning

(but it still won’t work

we all know relationships

are all that will work)

Coronatine, Day Twelve

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let me rephrase this:

my students are scared to death

their families could die

they don’t need English

they don’t need online teaching

they need love from us

i wish they could see

the beauty of this sunset

and find hope in it

but like these cracked streets

they’ve lived nothing but cracked lives

(and now they’re trapped here)

here! land of the free!

opportunities waiting

for someone (not them)

yes, i’m a cynic

cause i know without faces

relationships die

Coronatine sucks

the life from all we’ve worked for

and how will it end?

Coronatine, Day Eleven (The Missing Piece)

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i’m an introvert

but my teenagers are not

(glad they’re not alone)