From a Distance

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.


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