Pandemic Poems - APRIL 2020
Three Weeks Ago
We went shopping, joked about empty toilet paper shelves, laughed with the checkout lady when she carded us for wine. Wind blew wild and pines bent in the rain. Robins hopped in the yard, and, with the snow gone, hills looked bleak and bare. That night we tossed and woke, heard crashing sounds, then nothing but anxious dreams. In the morning, rain again. Cars wouldn’t start, Internet down. Bear tracks in the mud and dented garbage cans.
Learning to be Quiet
We’re staying home for the duration, whatever that means, even as sunlight pours in through the glass door, and birds return to perch in the branches of river trees. We haven’t seen anyone for days, only the flicker of the TV when we finally get tired of reading – about the virus, about our money leaking away, about travelers stranded far from home. We are learning to be quiet, listening to our bodies as they breathe easily so far, reading the signs, keeping the surfaces clean, listening to each other as the furnace hums, paying close attention to our heat.
Even as birds return, trees slowly leafing out. Every day more stricken, and our Oedipus full of rage and self-praise. Send for the prophet, slowly tease the story out. In the end he will blind himself, and someday the plague will end as he stumbles toward Colonus to die.
©2020 Steve Klepetar
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