13th month of 2020

She said, “The year has flown by.”

My son-in-law said, “Sometimes it feels that way.”

I thought, “What year was she living in?”

 

This year has lasted half my life.

This year has nearly stolen my sanity,

I can’t even remember the year before this one --

or the one before that, or the one before that –

it was so long ago. 

 

Every day is Groundhog Day.

I too, see my shadow day after day.

It shortens the view of my larger world

and lengthens my fears at night.

 

Let’s be honest, this year was soul crushing,

heart breaking, body debilitating.

And that’s just those of us still alive.

 

My days are constructs of pretense.

 

June, I fantasized, I was on sabbatical 

exploring how to be creative, to solve problems, 

to express thoughts to others.

 

November, I conjured myself a cabin in the woods 

trapped by a snowstorm of indeterminate length,

imagining warmth, baking muffins, making soup.

 

Month 13, I now assume I’m under house arrest 

by an unknown benevolent master

for being insolent, or naughty.

 

Let’s be honest, this year is soul crushing --

we are living with all the symptoms of depression by default.

And that’s just those of us who are terribly, terribly fortunate.        

 

January 18, 2021

S. Olivier

The book

It’s tiny, the book, about an inch square

and you made it with your tiny 

four-year-old hands.

 

So engrossed 

and confident 

and pleased with yourself.

 

It had a story and pictures.

You just smile 

sort of remembering.

 

You‘ve seen it,

but perhaps you do not 

remember making it.

 

That’s all I remember --

You – making it

I … still have it.

 

 

Poetry Workshop Jen Siraganian

Monday, June 27, 2022

 

Isla

 

I cannot tell you how magnificent

a small hand reaching up to you --

a small hand saying come with me -- is.

It just is… so wonderful. 

 

Did you know that, when Isla says 

Daizee or Paw Pawtwol, it’s music?

Well, it is…

It might as well be an angel singing.

Lake Tahoe

Feb 26, 2022

Carrying Duplos upstairs in South Lake Tahoe

 

My hand, one side and his hand, other side 

we lift the box together up the stairs;

one step, then the box, one step, then the box

I say, we should use magic or the lightsaber

to carry this box.

He says, no, we can do this… 

magic is for when we can’t do something.

 

I say, I need to write this down. You are so smart.

Love this kiddo.

Lake Tahoe

Feb 26, 2022

Trips to Goodwill

 

I traded in my life

It was like scheduling 

a knee replacement.

It had to be done

and what a difference!

 

I gave my it away, bit by bit

and box by box --

in possessions, collections

of stuff that called to me, 

or things that marked me. 

 

Each month I head off 

with something to drop off --

things to send off or write off.

If I buy a shirt, I give a sweater

without regret – I am practiced

 

I could not haul them around anymore --

these signatures of moments that are gone

and are not part of today;

I traded these myriad of things

for my life in the present.

Time slowed and now again flies

We have begun another day,

another week, another month.

As January rolled in blind

and February’s leap strayed

backwards into one long wretch’d March, 

we adjusted ourselves to May.

At once finding a keel and wind,

to sally forth into unknowns --

we reveled or rebelled or hid

having learned lessons of some sort.

Now sweet June is upon us

in all her tipsy gay glory.

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.”

A second wave will come ashore or carry us away. 

Corona Corona

1

It is surprising how stressful nothing is.

For one thing, being told to do nothing

and go nowhere, gives me permission 

to do even less.

I no longer need to push myself

to be active and productive.

2

Why is this not a staycation?

Because, I can’t run to Lowe’s

or the art store 

for project supplies;

because, will I need this money

for food in 6 months?

3

The onslaught of useful information

Is very, very scary; the onslaught 

of non-useful information

is exhausting -- I need to unscrew my head

and dump the crazies out then somehow – 

screw it back on … to start again.

4

Apparently, the denial of the outdoors

becomes directly proportional 

to the desperate need

to be outdoors.

Corona, please let us run out of doors!

Run free, hug everyone. 

5

Ah, Corona, corona, 

somehow by separating us

you have brought us together --

however, I will need my better angel-self

to dig deeper for courage 

in this time of powerlessness.