I do not write

I do not write
For the New Yorker
Though I read the cartoons
Regularly.
I rarely understand
The poetry
They choose
Though I do wonder
What the poetry editor
Eats
For breakfast.

Not over

As we arrive
Into a new space
Of quarantine
May we continue to find
New ways to connect,
Ways that we ignored
Because all of this
Would surely be over
Tomorrow.
Well it's not
Over.
So it is time
To explore
New ways
To become
Again.

Burning season

Plans change.
Whoever thought things
Would stay
The same?
Whoever thought
The world would stop
Spinning?
Cycling around
The sun?
Things change,
Even on this fragile earth
Our island home
This is Burning Season
In Thailand
Who knew I would end up
With two friends
As missionaries
In Thailand?
Whoever thought
I would have friends
Everywhere
On this fragile earth
Our island home?

When is a routine not a routine?

So many ways
To meet
I sit in my chair
Try to get comfortable
Watch the faces
Lined up
Like the Brady Bunch
Hear the Waltons
At the end
Good night
John Boy
The lights go out
We all return
To our own
Routines.
Even the routines
Are different.
When is a routine
Not a routine?

How to connect

How to connect?
We learn new ways
Every day

Even if someone trips us up
On the sidewalk
Six feet away
We learn new ways.

How to connect?
Different platforms
A smile
A wink
A nod
A picture
From China
We are reminded
We are one
We are one
We forget.
Nevertheless
We connect,

No matter what

Cherry blossoms on the table
They could  not wait
I understand Washington
Celebrates the same
Cherry blossoms
Must bloom
Cherry blossoms bloom
No matter what
No matter the snow
No matter
The indoor virus
No matter
What,

Bloom

The cherry branches
On the table they begin
Their bloom potential.

Easy solution

If it were only so easy
As holding a hair dryer
In front of your face
There would have been
A run on hair dryers
Not
On
Toilet paper.

Sit, Rhubarb

Sit down
Think
Consider
Who you might call
In the midst
Of this outbreak.
Watch the rhubarb begin
Its emergence
In the garden bed.
There are many things
To do
Right now
Sit
Think
Consider
Who
Rhubarb.

Cherry blossoms

The cherry blossom branches wait
On the dining room table
They may bloom
By Easter.
There is much waiting
These days.
Some of it mandated
Some of it
Because we are focused
On the world around us.
Meanwhile
The cherry blossoms wait
On the dining room table
They wait.
They may bloom
By Easter

Mostly home

I am mostly home
As you are.
If a phone call
Would make a difference
Let me know
I am mostly home
Too.
These are odd times
For all of us
These are lonely times
For all of us.
It will pass.
Sometimes
We forget
Sometimes
We forget.
It will pass.

Social distance

We learn new skills.
Social distance
Six feet apart
Or more.
Wash hands
Wash them again
And again
And yet
Again.
Use the phone
Disinfect it now
And again
And yet
Again.
New skills.
How do we not
Touch our face
Ever?
Social distance.
Six feet
No
Not five.
Do we meet
With tape measures
Or not at all?

We gather

We gather
We humans
It is the most human thing
We do.
We gather
No matter what
Our profession of faith
No matter what
Our ideology.
We gather
No matter how.
We gather to tell each other
The Story.
Let us not forget
We humans
To gather.

Discuss

What makes
A large gathering?
Who gets to decide?
For now we will watch
The Presiding Bishop
On-line
Maybe make
Individual bread and wine runs
Hold it
To our computer screen
Blessed
Long distance
Hear the same sermon
Discuss
Discuss
Discuss
What do you think?
Whatever was Matthew thinking?
Do you agree with the sermon?
Do you agree with Matthew?
Discuss
Discuss
Discuss
On-line
If need be.

Who to believe?

Church is cancelled
For Sunday
But the conference next week
Is not.
The county has
Its own limits
Now
Do I stay home?
Do I go?
Whose judgment
Is believable?
How many contagious people
Does it take
To stay well?

An ode to the Corona

Don't touch your face
Wash your hands
With soap
And hot water
Don't touch your face
In a pinch
Hand sanitizer
Will do
Don't crowd
The emergency rooms
Realize others
May need them more.
Above all
Don't touch your face.

Animals choose us, if we let them

Animals choose us
The kitten who came out
From under a bush
Chose my beloved.
The Siamese cat
Who chose my son and me.
The shelter cat
Who leapt into
Each of our laps.
The pit bull who leapt
Into the back seat
Of our daughter's car.
Arrived fully trained.
Animals choose us,
If we let them.

Just white

Antique doors
Will never dress up
This less than antique
House
With 32-year-old upholstered
Chairs
Hardly antique
Only
Sort-of-old
We have ordered slipovers
And will need to
Replace doors.
No antiques here
Just white.

Old poetry

An older woman writes poetry
She still comes to terms
With
Older.
There are contests
For older women
Just as there are contests
For younger women.
What's the difference?
Really
What's the difference?
Where's the dividing line?
Twenty
Thirty
Forty
Fifty
Sixty
Seventy
Eighty
Ninety
One hundred?
I creep up to sixty-five.
I write.

The trees consider spring

The trees
Consider spring.
The lawn considers spring
As well
The plants
Have a ways
To go
Before they catch up.
I wait
For the rhubarb patch
To poke its head
Above ground.
It is usually ahead
Of the others
These things
Bear watching

I watch.

I wait.

Cat in sun stripes

Cat in sun stripes
I wonder if we all look better
Clothed in sun.
I think
No
I know
We all look better
In the light.

Slipcover

What if God
Slip-covered the world
More dirt
More grass
More flowers
More everything
Even oceans
With extra fish
What if God began again
Said
Let's begin again
Let's think again
Maybe we will have
Better ideas
This time.