Quarantine

SHERRY CRAVEN 

March 17, 2020

What does that mean? Do I

move to a tent or a safe

room with concrete walls?

 

Or maybe lock the doors

and crawl under the bed

with my cat?

 

I don’t have angry red spots

or a rash that looks like foam

on the beach as the tide rolls in

                                                                       

or a body-boiling fever, no cough

dry as dead leaves, no aches

stalking my limbs like a thief

in the night, so quarantine?

 

Social isolation. Toilet paper.

Paper towels Hand sanitizer

and they don’t mean vodka.

If they did, we could lick

our fingers while quarantined.

 

I know how to self-isolate.

Hell, I do that anyway when the

world has sucked my oxygen,

made soup of my stirring emotions.

This quarantine, self-imposed

isolation rings a different bell of alarm.

The ringing is everywhere. There is no

escaping, well, maybe a few super rich

can buy first class tickets to good health,

 

but here we are, the rest of us, counting our

rolls of toilet paper, stacking canned beans

while over-ingesting Covid 19 information 24/7.

Social media instantaneous combusting.

 

Our heads ache worse than a scorching fever. 

But then there is touch without touching.

It’s not easy. We’re out of practice,

stumbling over our national subjectivity.

We need GPS to the find the place where

compassion and empathy live.

 

Pass the futuristic nightmare of hazmat suits,                                   

pass the border of egos, save a few paper towels

for someone else. Our new holy people are Doctors Without

Borders and healthcare workers going into battle daily.

Our devils are biases and egos, hubris and fears.

 

The view has changed but the earth is still blooming

into another spring. The grass is pushing its way to sun

and the brilliant cardinal is building a nest.

 

The leaves on my Japanese maple insist on thrusting

into life lacing the limbs. We can still dance again.

SHERRY CRAVEN has published poetry in numerous journals and anthologies and has had a poetry collection Standing at the Window published by vacpoetry.org in Chicago. She has also had flash fiction and creative nonfiction published and read poetry on NPR as well as being included in Quotable Texas Women.

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