Today we drew animals and read
about the Titanic. We drove our cars
slowly— imagine a snail,
then slow it down even more.
Every day is like a Sunday,
like moving underwater,
like when Alaska burned
& smoke circled us in a dream.
What other than a crisis can put you
in the moment, without a past
or future— only a now. Time marked
by bicycle tracks in frozen beach
grass, riding icy mud flats at low tide.
(Here social distancing is a way of life.)
I should cook an elaborate meal,
call my sister, do an online yoga class—
tend to my “medically sensitive” body.
Maybe my heart and my breath
and the breeze will sync up,
and I won’t need my inhaler anymore.
Maybe the tide will wash the beach of snow,
and the sun will seduce the spring.