staying away
as long as we don’t meet
I’ll know it’s not my fault
(anything that might happen)
and how could I live
with having harmed you?
we all say these words
to everyone now
stay alone for all of you,
our loves who we most long
to wrap our arms around
to share breath together
(the Māori know)
makes us most alive
but I can’t risk
robbing you of yours
so we’ll stay alone in our little
forced-air windows
saying hello through flickering screens
where we can’t smell spring
together
waiting for snow
all day
that tingle of anticipation
getting things done
while they still can be
groceries bought
wood split
sun basked in
walk taken
now all that’s left
is for the wind to shift
clouds to fuzz the sky
and the slow white moths
to begin to tuft the trees
we’re waiting for permission
to withdraw from the world
casting about
how can one endure
house arrest
without knitting gear?
Bernie
I wanted him to run
past all hope of winning,
a trustworthy soul
with a consistent stance
who was always there for
us believe-in-better-days folks,
those more than ready
to be the change.
But he couldn’t possibly win!
Alex says in exasperation
(though he voted for him, too).
I wanted him to keep running anyway
I say fiercely.
I wanted someone to keep pinning my hopes on
in these uncertain days
when anything may happen.
I wanted him to be there
to be a reckoning.
Ursus
in the dark
a stiff snort
and out of the black shadows
comes an even darker lumbering shape
shaggy hungry clawed and climbing
it’s our springtime wake-up call
the mountains are coming alive
(even now in these peak weeks of death)
and with all that motion and growth and melting
come the bears
groggy and ravenous
but still polite enough to let you know
they’re watching
masked Americans
we’re a nation of outlaws
bandanas pulled up to our eyeballs
or faces defiantly bare
we don’t take orders kindly
them who’re crafty will survive
and for them that don’t
there’s a mass grave waiting
the potter’s field
a place where people
become bodies
become numbers
become liabilities
and while we’re all distracted
hand-sewing cloth masks
the usual suspects are
making off with our future
breath sold to the highest bidder
toilet paper $16 a pack
elections continued
though voting’s impossible
next the disease
will get its own ™
April 1 – Insured
as I complete the morning ritual
of hanging the birdfeeders
I smile with relief –
today is our first day back in America
when illness might not ruin us
loose ends
gliding through aspen and spruce
the question arises unbidden –
what unfinished business do I have?
mostly the same as any mother
any wife
any daughter
any sister
and then the book I have been writing
all these late nights for years
unsent
unpublished
unimportant
otherwise
I think all the people I love know
and now all that’s left
is to sink into the skis’ kick and glide
think thank you over and over
and pray for mercy
called home early
our adventure cut short
no sloths or macaws
Temple of the Sun
Bosque Eterno de los Niños
Panamanian private island
really no March April May plans left
probably not even empty Seawall Beach in June
our one year off hacked by a third
down the drain
alongside a pile of cash
but
we regained a winter
and a neighborhood fox
the moon waxes right to left again
our boys learn how to stand on skis
our lessons in slowing down
have been taken to the extreme
I sit with Moon Creek every day
its news an antidote to mine
more importantly
our family knows we will not leave them
we’re as safe as Americans can be
we’re done debating how long to hold out
we still have our foursome to hug
and no one we love has died alone yet
there is never a good time
for terrible events
and just look what we packed
into those six short months
we were lucky to live so large
