I feel as if I have all the time in the world and yet I have no time. The days slip by like warm taffy. Projects and goals have wavy boundaries. I move through the day in a hyper alert daze. This pandemic, poetically labeled, Covid 19, has restricted and liberated simultaneously.
I am more socially isolated allowing me the freedom to roam the inner corridors of my imagination. This multi-verse virus has created an unusual dichotomy; the surrealistic cave I find myself wrapped in has veiled my time in a shroud of lethargy and energy, coursing in tandem through me.
I
plan, I plot, I stand still - and wonder, what will the world be like when we
collectively awaken from this Kafkaesque dream?
These two poems were written one month apart, similar emotions, yet an increasing dread of *something wicked this way comes:
Pandemic Time l
The days run into each other
like children on a playground -
pressed together like p b & j.
What day is it? I wonder.
I test myself.
I think it’s Wednesday.
Are you sure?
I think so.
I doubt.
I look at my phone for confirmation.
The days run into each other
like children on a playground -
carefree
careless
careful.
Pandemic Time ll
These times move me
to moments of intense clarity.
I pull myself into this moment,
this now.
Staying in this present
keeps the wolves of fear at bay -
as they lurk
at the outer edges
of my invisible eyes.
They wake me at night
pounding on the door
of my heart.
I lurch into awareness –
and repeat this mantra,
I
here
as I slow the internal thunder.
