Madness here and there sprinkled 
on supermarket shelves,
raise your voice to be heard 
in your home, 
alone or with cats, a dog,
a few children, your partner 
working, or laid off.

Walk, but stand apart,
wait on the sidewalk,
step into the street
others pass, like on a one-way street
with two-way traffic
take turns, stay masked,
convey warmth to strangers,
joke about cabin fever,
propel us from our sanctuaries.
Strange how we have never seen
these people before. 

Anonymous and liberated, I write
at my computer 
waiting for inspiration,
a phone my sole daily companion.
I dress for work each day
except for my shoes,
slippers offer more comfort,
and I don’t bother dying my hair.

Yesterday it snowed on a spring day
normal for in-like-a-lion, 
out-like-a-lamb March
natural confusion, but carries
a wealth of sadness with it
of things gone wrong
the only consistency
the madness that lay at the center
of a slushy imperfect storm.

Today, with the sun,
there is some hope 
though we hear of sickness and death
within our six degrees
and like royal decrees 
of old nailed 
to wooden doors, with
announcements of border
closings and quarantines
while our two children,
who live far from us
and every day 
feel farther.

I vowed not to write 
about the virus today
but it came through anyway.
I fight the need to scream.