Isolation
(a partial inventory of things for which I grieve
in this time of pandemic)
Hugs and hands and friendly kisses.
A bar of soap in the dish, unremarkable and dry.
Going out to breakfast, pancakes and eggs, bacon
chatting with the waitress while waiting for you.
Driving to a meeting in town, boring, endless,
ordinary. College basketball. Baseball season.
Missing easy shots in tennis and losing my cool,
as if it mattered. Golden mornings passed
in silent meditation, my feet cold
on retreat, loving and being loved,
the soft sound of all of us breathing together,
as if it mattered. Being cold, being hot, wind,
rain, snow and sunburn. Sacred places,
Yosemite, The Grand Canyon, Dolomiti skies.
Cinque Torri at sunset, then again at dawn.
Parisian museums. Parisian meals. Parisian coffee.
Paris.
Venice in the morning. Eating gelato in Rome.
Eating more gelato in Rome.
Aging simply but still feeling young.
Not being classified as vulnerable.
Not being classified.
Not needing to sanitize the keys in order to loan the car
to my son. Seeing my sons. Holding them.
Seeing my infant granddaughter. Holding her
even if it still makes her cry.
The illusion of safety.
The familiar smell of my personal cocoon.
Never having to consider case counts, respirators
or exponential curves.
Believing myself to be harmless to others (or mainly so.)
Belief in a particular future.
The future.
The freedom to ignore a simple cough.
Taking a single breath for granted.
Believing that time is continuous, endless and free.
Ignorance of the gray man stalking the streets
counting breaths.
A committed belief in Death
as an abstraction.
© 2020 jafink/oldbonesnewsnow.com