A poem by Susan Glickman One Hand Clapping Some questions have no answers. These are the ones we must ask. How finds the way. Why builds the road. One travels light in darkness; Two, both lighter and darker. We are what the light makes when it stops moving.
Today it’s difficult for me to remain optimistic. It’s our granddaughter’s birthday and to add insult to injury, the gift we ordered online to be delivered before this special day, has not yet arrived. I don’t want to have the day pass empty handed from us so I have written her a humble story and illustrated it to the best of my ability. Singing “Happy Birthday” over the phone with her triggered my tears… I guess it’s a small price to pay if we can remain healthy.
I wish everyone strength and fortitude to get through this. May we all remain healthy!
Reading some poetry by Jimmy Pappas, a New Hampshire poet, inspired the following:
Social Isolation We cannot tell if it is time for Friday night wine or Sunday prayers. Let us bow our heads.
Remnants of winter wash down the storm sewer at the end of our street, a steady stream of grime, dead leaves and leftover dreams. The smell of Mother Earth shedding her winter weight, a moist decay, fills my nose. Bits of green poke through melting snow on lawns, through espresso black loam in flower beds where early morning conversations were tossed out the door along with coffee grounds.
I run away from my neighbor who says hello, a slight panic that we might be too close. Deep embedded Canadian courtesy has me stop and turn around, ten feet away. With eyes lowered I say “hi”. “My bad” is his quick response, this first time pandemic for most of us, hard to get used to.
A smile, a wave, we carry on not knowing exactly where we are going, not knowing where this will lead, not knowing if we will recognize each other should we meet again when the virus has traveled its corkscrew route, twisting us to shreds like a dried out cork.
Will we look back and remember things we must never do again? Will we look back with gratitude as those who survived? Survivors who know greater kindness? Who lead simpler lives? Who know how to connect when it seems no connection is possible?
I pray when we look back it will be to celebrate the changes we make, with a bottle of Mt Brave Cabernet in hand.
dangle from red branches
with crystal drops-
nature’s display of jewels
pales next to you
cold metal rises
from rough barren ground
stark on the field
yet it loops to form a heart,
links our lives to something warm
scents and textures
clamor for attention
on a busy street
seize my heart
Music is the divine way to tell
beautiful poetic things to the heart. – Pablo Casals