I Am from This Time of Covid

I am behind a mask from the time of Covid

When smiles moved from our mouths io to our eyes and faces gave away nothing about intention.

Thieves and pastors, warriors and workers, all became indistinguishable.

I am isolation from the time of Covid,

When I already understood the words: alone, and silence, and lockdown.

My body so thirsty for a drink of a hug and the warmth of a kiss as it cools on my cheek leaving the ghost of its memory.

I am immunity from the time of Covid,

When systems of this fragile body and of this broken down earth trembled with the fear of demise.

Like a thief, disease came by every house turning each handle waiting to find an unlocked door to quietly enter and steal our last breaths.

I am from the hospitals in the time of Covid.

When responders to the calls of those who lost their breath and could not speak came to hang from tubes.

Like infants born too soon incubated and unable to bond to Mother Earth and this human race, on the edge of death with mothers worrying,

Praying for a doctor or a nurse to say everything is going to be okay.

I am the mutation in this time of Covid

An injection cannot fool me for I will keep you behind a mask, isolated, without immunity and in despair.

Don’t be alarmed by me – I am here alongside Darwin to break the frail and leave the fittest in tact.

I am hope – from this time of Covid.

And as hope I never lie and I never die and I can unchain us from the fear, the uncertainty and the mutations.

I will enter your souls and open the locked doors to let the gentle breeze of life inside.

As hope I will come into your hearts, removes your masks and finally I will hold you forever and kiss your cheeks, returning the stolen smiles to your face.

As hope I will never fail you and hold you forever in the warmth of my grace.

The Voyage of May Flowers

Pulling from the highest shelf 
(Hoping no one noticed)
A book labeled too provocative to leave behind:
“Dead & Pretty”
How they once sipped water through stems
From beneath the clean garden soil.
I sit on oak old chairs at Along library table with hearts carved by keys
Holding initials of what love leaves
Turning pages of pressed flowers
Bowing their heads in prayer hour after hour.
Weak petals dry as ice
Lining page after page with the names
Of the dead typed carefully
To let me not forget:
Poppy, Lily, Daisy, Cassia, Aster
Carefully as though stepping through a grave yard - faster and faster
I close the tomb of wild things
With Short lives. I sit remembering
Trying to sweep away my cobwebs
I find dust and mold instead
My skin the color of smooth stones
My body’s brittle bones
Now the color of magnolias.
Water in those years
Turned ore to rust everywhere. Torrential winter snows
Opened up on sleepy
Flower beds. Springing now
Surprising early yellow tulips Yawning their petals open

Waiting to hear the breezes beat to begin dancing -
Bent and swaying
In their cradle and their grave.
Marigolds in my grandma’s garden
Weeds to her - once graced
Me with my tomorrow’s and memories and yesterday’s.
Can you recall when “I love you”
Was enough to buy more time?
Now that I’m expiring, do you still consider
That money well spent?

You bent me towards the light. Then let me go to cry alone.
I know the dawn - I tell you
Dusk I know, too, time lies.
We’ve come for shoveling
Planting, pruning.
Our rough callous hands holding
A bouquet of ill gotten gains.
Some say we’re born of women
Some only children of men
Yet it’s in the heat of my own body
Where I am born again.
My own flowers are planted in clay pots
Held in by iron fences waiting
For chances at their time in the garden.
If you could do it over again
Would you mind not knowing why?
The fall’s done showing off,
Yet Women’s work is never done
Even once we have succumbed to the worst of it.

I set my timer for high tide
Boarding early. Late as ever
You stumbled as you rolled with the waves.
Why you insisted to save
Yourself yet let your legs give way breaking your stride
Now drowning in tears and years of regret
(told you so I told you so)
“Make memories like books of pressed flowers
Let the beauty lie for you
Make the memories last longer.”
Too busy to listen now listless and deaf
Now throwing yourself to a tear soaked ocean
Right along with my steamer trunk
Filled with your pasts
With all the photographs.
All the pressed flowers now floating like dead fish
Along side my face pressed
Against yours in a kiss.

Now Walking the house end yo end like an old pirate
You won’t sleep until you can’t stay awake.
Once you dreamed of drowning
Yet found a floating plank instead
Freed from a boat that crashed long ago
Its bounty sunk down down on a coral reef.
You never learned, yet I swam
Without taking a breath until I found the
Flowers of the sea at
Depths that mean only one things.
And now with the ahead and forwards alone
How easy to forget how love feels.
Rolling your shoulders back
And now put the book on the shelf where it belongs.
(You knew I was no thief)
I meant to return it at least you choose to believe it.

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Prostate Cancer Strikes awarded the #1 best new prostate disease ebooks to read in 2020!

— Read on gogsgagnon.com/2020/02/21/prostate-cancer-strikes-awarded-the-1-best-new-prostate-disease-ebooks-to-read-in-2020/