The number’s Four Five Six: how many days
elapsed from house arrest to June Fifteen
of Twenty-one. We’re entering a phase
unmasked, with smaller distances between
ourselves and stranger/neighbors. What our ways
will be unknown, and whether nice or mean.
And will I still find grist to daily grind?
Or shall I leave this lockdown work behind?
(Ottava Rima)
I took a 5 day break from exercise,
except for walks to market or the train.
My body said the respite would be wise,
and I have learned to listen. Its refrain
told me to rest – I slept an extra hour
every night – I sat around a lot.
Today I felt a renaissance of power –
I sought to relish every crunch and squat.
I’m feeling, too, a lighter attitude.
I’ve lately been too much with fear and death.
This morning’s focus looks on gratitude
for comfort, painless frame, renewing breath.
The future’s boding bleak, pre-scarred with grief.
Today my home and garden grant relief.
This week I’m sleeping soundly through the night.
I rise to see the toilet water’s clear!
It’s been at least two decades since that sight,
but lately I’m so weary that I’d fear
it as a symptom of morbidity,
except I have good reasons for fatigue –
my mother edges toward mortality,
while lies and virus hit us like blitzkrieg.
The world in which I grew has sorry-changed –
its every benefit is in decline.
The values valued young have been deranged;
I take to bracing nerves and resting spine.
But now I’ll stand and turn away from wreck,
to sweep two days of leaf fall off my deck.
I thought I understood a lot of life.
I figured others valued truth and fair
attempts to win. I witnessed acts of strife,
assuming bad in character was rare.
I bent some silly rules without a care,
but I expected morals to endure.
I didn’t dream the breakage many dare.
Of late the chaos grows, and there’s no cure.
(Huitain)
I sometimes drank too much when I was young.
A social 20-something in a bar,
I wasn’t home alone. I drank among
acquaintances and friends. I took in far
too much because I lost all appetite
for food. I pushed the plate and bowl away –
then passed a semi-sleepless, dizzy night,
and felt the bad effects for half a day.
I aged. At 41 the ache would last
two days. So overdrink moved to my past.
With food I felt disorder longer still.
I overate at home, unseen, alone.
And though my bingeing often made me ill,
I bore that consequence (I should have known).
I’m old now, and I rarely overdo
the carbohydrates or the calories.
But every now and then, when stressed or blue,
I mindless eat, relapsing to disease.
Alas – now bloat and gas extend for days.
I learn to be aware. I weigh my ways.
Already living with uncertainty
beyond the usual organic span,
with virus plaguing us and frequently
provoking changing rules about what can
be done in company, so every plan
is tentative … And now Mom’s health is skewed.
I try for flexible. She gets a scan,
while I equip my shelves with extra food.
(Huitain)
Customary June –
twenty-four degrees between
their valley our bay
We’re seeing Mom at least three times a week
of late. We seem adjusted to the new
routine. Except it changes. Symptoms peak
and some subside. Acute and chronic flip.
Another hospital, a new technique –
but overall her system’s in decline.
We’re not expecting much. Our tears don’t leak
to mourn a life so long and loving too.
No pain or fearfulness are what we seek.
(Magic 9)
The real estate is sold. The plague abates.
It feels like time to take on other tasks.
A visit’s overdue – my clan awaits –
and though they’re still requiring the masks
on planes, this week I’ll be selecting dates
to fly, responding to beloved asks.
It’s 18 months since I’ve embraced their forms;
I’ll venture soon to travel through new norms.
(Ottava Rima)
My lower back is bothersome today.
It’s acting fragile. It wants gentle use.
The pill I swallowed didn’t take away
the symptom, and recall did not occur
until I walked a bit and felt it say
I almost tripped a day ago. No fall
befell – avoiding that, I stepped astray,
and now I understand my own abuse.
I need to heed this body, and obey.
(Magic 9)
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