Missing

I have missed that voice. I have missed the way he builds a speech, the way he draws us in, the way he makes you feel as if he's sitting at your table, talking, over an everyday meal. I miss the feeling that he cares deeply about whatever he may be talking about. I miss him.

I miss the way he walks: sure and steady, how he skips down the steps, how he stops to answer questions, how he sees people, how he responds. I miss seeing him light up when he sees a child, how he knows instinctively how to hold a baby or talk to a toddler. I miss him stooping to their level to speak face to face.

I miss the pride in his face when his wife, his daughters, his friends speak, when they are honored, when they are congratulated. I miss the naturalness of his demeanor, his willingness to discuss, his ability to disarm with a smile, with a pause, with a sudden burst of song. I miss the spontaneity and the charm.

I heard him on the radio just the other day, paying tribute to John Lewis. His was the voice I listened to, and sat in my car, parked at the supermarket, to hear through. I haven't done that in a long while. In almost four years. It was such a pleasure to hear a thoughtful message, delivered well, something meaningful and purposeful and true.

I miss being proud of him, and of my country. I want that feeling back. 

Dilemma

 Recognize

there is much we have to learn.

We guess at others’ tolerances.

Are we too cautious,

too bold? too close?

What is the limit for safety?

We measure out our lives

with statistics and percentages

we barely understand: cases

and graphs and tests; 

positivity rates and hospital beds;

recovery rates and deaths.

Know

we have become 

a city of bandits:

masked faces on every street,

stealing through supermarkets,

keeping our distance

relative to everyone else.

And we are suspicious…

assessing the history

of everything we touch, 

be it shopping cart,

countertop, or proffered pen.

Understand

that truth’s a rare commodity

these days..

that no one really knows

exactly what we’re battling..

or how we should engage.

Nothing is certain, nothing is sure

Some trust in history or science,

some in political rhetoric, 

some simply believe they are invincible.

Take your choice, but know this. Know this:

everybody lies

Nova

Normal.
As in: "How can we get back to...?"
Like HAL in that space odyssey,
I have to say, "I'm sorry, Dave.
I'm afraid I can't do that."
There is no 'normal' anymore.
The pod bay doors are locked down tight;
we are stuck inside with
lunatics abroad, a still-rampant virus,
with age-old injustice, and anxiety,
free-floating and amplified.
Outside--
a black hole that threatens to swallow
our fragile ship as it navigates
this new universe.

Who is to say that where we end
will be better or worse than
where we were before?
I used to marvel at my grandmothers:
the changes they lived through--
two world-changing wars,
the two-edged swords of
radio, television, internet...
The new 'normal' must have seemed
incredible, unsurvivable, science fictional
upheaval for them.
And yet, they survived
new breakthroughs, old issues, new thought
in the same way we are surviving--
one foot in front of the other,
plodding through uncertainty
(doubtful, distrustful, fearful)
to get to the other side,
to get to a place
we may not recognize at all:
a new world, a new star.

Max and Me

Last night,

flattened by the weight 

of this week’s worry,

I was looking at a children’s book— 

and happened on a page that read:

“And Max, the king of all wild things,

was lonely, and wanted to be 

where someone loved him best of all.” 

I began to cry at those words:

suddenly, inexplicably, sad

in this week of protest, police and politics:

sad for all the lonely people,

for the forgotten

the unheard, the left behind;

crying for the frightened, beaten,

trampled-down, no-place-left-to-go

people; for the mourners, the survivors,

who are not, and never have been

kings (of wild things or tame),

who are not, and never have been

heard,  

who are not and never have been

recognized, 

or celebrated, 

who are not and never have been

accepted

for who they are in this wide, wide world

where all men (supposedly)

are created equal, and

are endowed by their creator 

with certain inalienable rights—

Like life. 

Like liberty. 

Like the pursuit of happiness.

Like having someplace, some homeplace

where  someone loves them

best of all.

Six Feet Apart

When they tell the story of these times,
will they say that our universe was two thousand feet square,
that walking to the mailbox was an event to be anticipated,
that we measured our days from meal to meal--
or worse yet-- by the TV schedule.

Will they note that we worried about shortages
and doctors' visits, and family visits, and
not knowing if or when this all would end?
Might they document supermarkets' empty shelves,
and how we learned to Zoom?

Can fashion mavens explain
how masks and gloves and
disinfectant wipes became important accessories,
and suits and ties and Sunday clothes
surrendered to sweatpants and t-shirts?

Will they wonder how we felt
as we watched our savings
swallowed whole by failing markets--
or how we raged at TV news
and wept at strangers' lonely funerals?

How will they picture isolation?
Will they display an array of canvases,
lined in lonely rows,
each a separate world,
set six feet apart?

Pebble

It's the sharp reminder of a gravel path,
a forced pause to divest oneself
of a shoe--a sock--a boot..
whatever causes pain.
It's the grit round which an oyster
layers its nacre and builds its pearl,
the beginning of something beautiful;
it's the smooth hard 'good luck'
one carries in a pocket, just in case--
whose solid weight holds memory.
It is the center of the
widening round of ripples in the pond:
a point of contact that,
molecule by molecule,
impact upon impact,
spreads its effect
beyond its point of origin
to kiss an infinite shore.

A reminder, a pause, a foundation;
a charm, a source, an influence--
of one sort or another,
we are all pebbles.

4 Haiku--and the News

It’s a weird sort of haiku: 

1-Juxtaposed headlines-- 

metropolitan newsflash --

today’s broadcast news..

2-Stream-of-consciousness—

mind-boggling, strung-together: 

the news of the day. 

3-And my day begins: 

with bizarre bullet-pointed 

news in haiku form…

4-“Today’s insane news:

Corona virus briefing.

(Where, oh, where is truth?)

Tease out the threads of 

different versions;

click and search, then click again, 

following, following, 

till you, like Theseus, 

(beset by Furies)

wind your way 

story by story,

newsflash by newsflash,

out of (or into) 

the Minotaur’s cave.