pandemic
when the threat is everywhere
to everyone
at once
worrying that anyone you know
may die
at any time
knowing there’s nothing you can do
but withdraw from all those
you may soon lose
remembering to stop and feel
sun on your skin
sometimes
and give thanks that for now
you still smell roses
still taste wine
safer-at-home start
our first trip to town in 5 weeks
and the new reality is everywhere:
masked bandits entering banks
and mailing letters
it feels so different
seeing it all in person
my kind husband like a
stagecoach robber
and no end in sight
no way to know
how to best love
our loved ones
safe
this is the safe time
everyone snuggled in their beds
minds easy
in our cheerful cabin
at the end of the plowed road
we go unmasked
rambling around the hills
confident in our isolation
things are mostly black-and-white
in such a small world
we have already put the pieces together
in a way that spells out
safe
but soon
the closed roads will open
the drifts will melt
appointments will be made and kept
the wide world will beckon
and the confusion of a thousand choices
will return –
our life of too many options
for right now
I’m going to luxuriate
in this small quiet safeness
throw myself down
and make snow angels in it even
press my whole body into its
cold near-certainty
before brushing myself off
and steeling for the next wave
one month isolation
now there is time
to witness winter melting
to sit and listen to icicles drip
to watch snow go to water to wind
and yet
there is still not enough time
to do all that should be done
the hours are filled by so much less now
we forget how to be busy
accept going slow
isolation/grief
so many small sadnesses
including putting away
this last filled fieldbook
closing our adventurous chapter
staring down rows and rows
of weeks of going nowhere
feeling like we failed
to do what we said we would
so many plans scattered
in the flurry of leaving
if only I believed in the kind of god
who wanted me to submit
and trust his plan
having most options wrenched away
would be easier to accept
but beyond all these petty disappointments
we’re alive
and grateful
and past caring for little else
quarantine
every day longer and slower
than the last
filled with even less
the sun conspires
stays up even later
with a narrower lens
shut
these are the days of closing doors
cutting off connections
cordoning off wards
identifying and isolating
the smallest unit you hold dear
slide the pocket door into the void
close the border
abandon the gate
leave your post
wring your own hands and none other
don’t open the post
don’t shake on anything
we’re all going inside very dark spaces
sitting quietly
with only a small candle’s glow
learning slowly bitterly desperately
how rich life was
when anyone could barge in
and disturb our peace
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
denning bears
tonight we will sleep
each in our own places
the deep slumber
of denning bears
so warm in our thick black coats
in our cozy hollows
of thick white snow
where no wind stirs
we will dream
calm safe dreams
of honey in unguarded hives
and salmon that jump
into our open mouths
trusting that when winter
eases its grasp
and it’s time to
muscle our way
out of the drifts
the sun will be there to warm us
the roots will be ready to nourish us
and our ancestors have already made
clear paths we can follow
to finally drink fresh water
and feel the crisp clean air
settling deep into our lungs
until all our old stale breaths
are wrung right out
yes, you and I,
each in our quiet den,
a mountain or more apart,
we trust implicitly
that there will still be a world
worth waking for
and our cubs will be
just fine
photo by Owen
Roxy the Red Fox
a fuzzy flicker of flame
far brighter than the
temperamental woodstove can manage
glides across ice-crusted snow
in knee-high black boots
he fixes us with amber eyes
gauging our intent
then settles in on the knoll
overlooking Moon Creek
(we passed his test)
first he curls his tail into a cushion
then draws himself up
so he can settle upon it
like a ptarmigan atop her chicks
from his dainty pointed nose
to velvet black-backed ears
he is all elegance
that still melts into ponderosa when needed
now we’ll never feel the same here,
always looking out the sides of our sight
wondering if he’s near
studying any tracks
and sniffing for his scent
waiting for him
with the same delightful disappointment
the Little Prince felt when his fox was late
our latest emissary from the universe’s
Department of Good News
says without speaking
no matter how distant you try to be
you’re never, ever alone –
your animal family
will always be near
