For Imelda

i sit half past twelve in the afternoon
and search for inspiration
amidst poems of death and grief
i've had my morning coffee
i've lit a candle
that reminds me to breathe
with its blue ashen hue scented 'breathe'
i root in prayer
gazing outside my window
the usual cascading shades of sky
are smoky and stone shadows today
as our loved ones at a 277-mile distance
lay you to rest
my heavy heart clumsily sheds tears
and i look for the rainbow in the drizzle


Wishful wisteria

We planted wildflower seeds today. Grateful I can gaze outside our kitchen window, see and feel this . . .

let us interconnect
like the lilac wisteria 
enmeshed in compassion
blissful and tender 
our consciousness 
of each other heightens 
in Spring's breath


Covid deep

The other day I fussed out because I didn't have the zoom number and code for NB's ballet class. After messaging her ballet school and texting a fellow mom, I realized it's spring break, spring f#$%#*! break. Oh, right. Classes resume after Easter. 

Since then, I've finally been processing the number of folks in our family/friends circles who've been hit by covid, including two elderly deaths (each died completely alone in the hospital); three friends not hospitalized; one friend's senior father also recently hospitalized; cousin husband and wife in their young 50s recently hospitalized, he came home this afternoon and she is on oxygen, her doctor not ready to put her on a vent; and a Jersey City high school mate's 50-year-old brother, who died today.

Once I learned my high shcool mate's news, not the kind I delight in learning on facebook, I busy myself with prepping dinner, homemade whole wheat spinach-kale pizza. Late afternoon, I feel sick to my stomach. In the background, N. trekking up and down the stairs, enjoying  a messenger video-chat playdate with her pals, whom she has not seen since school closed on March 13th. I let her date linger longer than usual. 

Definitely need a glass of wine tonight with dinner. Just a glass. I wonder if I'm sharing too much (texting too much), all the folks I know who have been hit by covid. I'm hoping they're praying too. Maybe there are folks who don't want to know, don't want to hear about dearest friends and family whom we're terrified for, concerned for their survivors. Maybe others just cope differently and want to keep isolated in hope and positivity. As I spend my waking hours keeping it together with creative enthusiasm for my seven-and-a-half-year-old, who doesn't hesitate to ask about the corona virus, and we respond as appropriately and lovingly as possible without alarming her, always sure to mention all the helpers working to keep others healthy and find a cure, I seek space and permission to process my deeply laden anxiety, fear and sadness. I'm stunned. Almost every day, we call our senior parents and remind them, Don't go out. Please stay home. Doubtful there will be a vaccine by the fall, my partner and I briefly mention the possibility of having to homeschool then. How could we risk sending N. to school? I'm not ready for this discussion. Nope, can't deal with that real possibility yet. 

After dinner, definitely need a shower. I miss my four-mile hikes/woodsbaths. Yes, we have a trail that runs behind our home. But in beautiful sun, lots of foot and bike traffic along with people who seem to not understand the importance of physical distance. Can't deal with that frustration. A friend suggested that I take a walking stick and hold it parallel to the ground to remind folks what physical distance is! So the treadmill it is in addition to our neighborhood strolls during off-peak hours, and whatever yogi Adriene has to offer in terms of finding what feels good. Tonight it was finding my center. 

And cake in a mug as often as possible can be centering too. 

Grateful to be at home with my loves. Here's to the Earth healing and resetting. Wishing you loving wellness. May you feel safe and grounded with those dearest to your heart.