Covid – year two. I no longer live within my
former parameters.
Sleep comes in waves per night as does dream.
Some days the sun sings I’m still there
some mornings stars blink in astonishment
beyond time
discarded masks erode in dust on the lake’s
widening shore
injections are celebrated politicized or prized
sought out in red and blue realities
All the soil displaced to dig a million graves
could grow enough food to feed a generation
Ignorance is bliss but still contagious
as the damages continue to outweigh
illegal parties and congregations
even 1918 couldn’t prepare us for this
even a kiss is suspect even
a hug is suspicious or code for whatever was before.
Before fades like an old photograph
found in a book where I no longer recognize the faces
The places I’ve been get further away by the day but
when I return at some time post Covid
will I remember who I was
will I remember who I am
tomorrow?
Burt Rashbaum is a poet living in Nederland.
