2020

 

In one hand I hold

The wetness of tears, the rain that falls upon the robes

of people and hopes everywhere.  Lost hopes, lost jobs,

hunger, sickness, death, isolation and loneliness, protests and pain,

frustration, hoarding, politicization of the scenario,

pot-stirring, personal and national debts that tower above us all.

Beliefs, not news nor facts.

To fill the other hand, I have to find

the awareness, to look for and see the light.

In the other-worldly quiet nights, long walks, a flowering spring

that dazzles because I have the time to see it unfold

before me with clearing air from less used machines,

the working of jig saw puzzles with my family

and listening as my daughter discovers the quiet satisfaction

of the NYT crossword and rediscovers here love of the piano,

experiencing spring like I had not done in 50 years or more.

 

Friendliness and courtesy and communal help

for those in need seems to be also blossoming around me

 in the small and not so small parts of the world I bump in to

But If I squint my eyes just right, I can see the good, the hope and care

wearing a shirt of fear and worry.

This time has blessed us with a flaneur’s world, while it has cursed us with an anger,

a dread and divide that may not ever subside, or so I fear

as I hold my breath and wait.