In the Time of Pandemic
I was born and raised and created generations.
I love and so it’s said that I accept the rites of grief.
And what is it that I grieve in this time?
Loss, loss, and more loss.
Loss of lives, so many lives.
Loss of choice to go where and when I want,
as my will decides. What woman wouldn’t grieve this?
Loss of the choices I’ve known—
food, clothing, companionship.
Being an elder preyed on by a virus, loss
of vigor, joy, ability to swim, dance, fly kites, climb
to vistas of creped mountains, verdant valleys.
And, dare I say it? Loss of the very life I love.
Sheltered in solitude, loss of presence of family.
Loss of touch, fondling, laughter, embrace.
Loss of intimacy. No, it doesn’t stop there.
Now we’ve arrived at my fear: loss of desire.
Imagine. It could come to this. In all of the confusion,
crises, half-truths, omissions, crimes, mistakes and
outright lies, what if suspicion prevails?
Desire atrophies? Intimacy devolves?
The tattered cloth fissures and frays--
What if it tears apart irreparably?