Evening sky. I watch the sky a lot, an easy thing to do from our hillside home. I don't mind waking up before the sun rises so that I can watch the dawning sky.
I, like most of you, am now over two weeks into sheltering in place. What I've begun to notice in my own family's moods and reactions is that things are really starting to register now, to sink in. How serious this is. How long it could go on. How hard it can be to be alone. How we miss being with certain people when Zoom and Facetime can't fill the gap.
I do appreciate posts on Facebook of nature or humor, even dark humor. I'm having a harder time taking in ones that are optimistic. Too facile, perhaps? And talk about the crazy-making discrepancies in information! First it's wash your groceries with soap and water; then, it's soap will hurt you. Elderberries are good. Elderberries are bad. Sometimes Facebook feels like a lifeline, and sometimes I just need to shut it down.
This morning I heard two radio shows about the difficulties pregnant women are facing. Man, that is a tough one. Here is another, on a sort of similar theme. Some of us will need health care that is not coronavirus-related. I find myself in that situation, and, boy, is it problematic. No doc wants to see you come in. Some of us may have to do so and undertake the risks that involves. And yet, at least for now, I don't have the dreaded virus, and I don't want to minimize my gratitude and recognition of the privilege I have been fortunate to have. I have a home, food, family, friends, books, poetry.
I've turned to writing a poem a day. Many are just rants. Once in a while something comes that I nod my head to. Turning to Persephone is always my way. Here's one of those.
Help
She paces.
Like Persephone,
she knows confined spaces.
She wants to listen
but needs to still herself,
and the pacing
does not help.
Help.
That is the word.
Help.
Is she being called?
Or is she the one calling?
That is the beginning
of finding an answer.
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