by Jeanne Haynes, 04/17/2020, TRAVERSE CITY, MI

Adult Category


What it is to have a staff to lean on
when time has no meaning no length no width
no moment to moment measure of path,
we walk it anyway

I wake each morning and forget
glad to see the sun pierce the bedroom window
and fall across our bed
love in the time of virus
isn’t what we expect

The quiet years have twisted
bent into a double helix
a remote control car
zooms around the track in my head

I slide my arm through yours
walking streets made strange
with silence as if the town had inhaled
and forgot to breath, suspended,
waiting for answers and cures

Our dog doesn’t care
she thinks we’ve finally come to our senses
and started to behave
in the correct dog manner
Stay home in front of the fireplace
eat and sleep more than usual
She would take this for endless tomorrows

What if nothing is ever the same?
The birds and the trees and water
flowing over ground are still there
resilience grows on plum trees
resilience flowers on the crab apple
a carpet of cherry blossoms
blankets the orchard
the salmon swim upstream
and you and I, hands entwined,
step out the door once more.