Writing poetry through Covid-19 quarantine

Impossibly and inevitably it’s May.

April was National Poetry Month, which meant participating in one of my favorite annual traditions: Poemaday– attempting to write one poem every day for the whole month.

The group of women I write with are mostly neighbors- but that descriptor doesn’t feel quite enough to capture the bond we share in April.

Our poetry tells the stories of both our inner and outer lives- the warts and the joys in equal measure. I feel like during the month of April, we remove the shells we wear for most of the year and shine light on our most vulnerable and beautiful pieces. The poetry in our inboxes each day is this little gift we give each other and ourselves.

Normally, when I hit “Send” for my last poem on April 30, I feel a sense of relief and accomplishment. Here’s a creative pursuit I followed through on and am no longer responsible for.

But this year it was different. Because everything right now is different.

This year, I welcomed the arrival of Poemaday with more eagerness than in the past- hoping it could offer a sense of purpose and a diversion from the tedium of life in quarantine.

Writing poetry helped me sort through the anxiety of being alive at this moment and also allowed me to document the beauty of it. It forced me to seek out these little bursts of hope or wisdom or meaning during a time when I would just rather cocoon myself into a hoodie and stare off into some middle distance while drinking coffee and eating just-baked chocolate chip cookies.

Reading poetry by the other five women I write with was a salve. It called attention to little moments I wasn’t appreciating, it reminded me that despite how strange life is, there are still normal everyday heartaches and headaches and celebrations. Mostly, it reminded me that I wasn’t alone. That in the age of Covid-19, no emotion, no reaction, no frustration, no epiphany, no instance of overwhelming grief– no way of navigating this was wrong or weird.

We were all on this raft crashing through moments of terror, acceptance, frustration, mindfulness, anger, despair, hope and depression. And sometimes all at one time. All in one poem.

But Friday, it was time to get off the raft we shared. It will be there, tied to the bank waiting for next year. There won’t be any gathering this year to drink wine and chat about things not in verse. Just the six of us going our separate ways (metaphorically speaking). Returning back to days where poetry wasn’t tugging at our sleeves each day.

And rather than feeling that sense of victory and pride, this year it just feels empty and sad. Because the glue that sort of held my day together is missing and I’m having to just carry on in the weirdness. An entire month passed by, and here we are, still. In purgatory.

I suppose I could just blog more, but who really wants to read yet another update about my family’s ongoing (though frequently adorable) battle with baby mice (seriously, how the hell are they getting in the house) or my ongoing battle with the random socks I find hourly scattered about the house (seriously, how the hell to my children have any socks left in their drawers when they are squished in the couch cushions or under the dining room table or on the stairs or literally anywhere but in the laundry basket?!!!!!) Or my ongoing battle with the marbles Annie collects and then loses all over the house. That is not subtle metaphor. I am literally losing my marbles every day.

Anyway, I’ve rambled long enough. :

I never liked the word mindful
All its trendiness
The license it gives to stay focused on the inner
Blind to the world around us
The whole notion of self-care
Tends to detract from mission critical
Improving the world around us
Completing, I was taught, God’s creation
Partners in the making
Of it all
But never has my smallness been more apparent
The world is ill
And I haven’t the skills to heal it
A truth that should humble me
And yet I am close to crushed
By my own problems
That feel as big as giants
Its time to take a breath
Follow it through my body
Be mindful
Of my many blessings
And the love I have still to give
To those who need it

I puffed my cheeks and blew
Making a bubble so big it swallowed me whole
And lifted me up and out
Across the sky

To somewhere, nowhere, anywhere but here

Weightless, careless 
I floated along
My mind empty of thought 
Or care

Like Science Fiction

The world paused and I moved on
Or was it the other way around 
So out of time I was it did not matter 
What had stopped and who was going

I was untethered and free

But soon a voice
One
No three
Called for me

The bubble burst

Back I fell 
To here
And here I am
And here I’ll be

-SK
"New Math"

Counting by tens is more efficient
So they say

By that measure
It's been three groups of ten
Days

Not thirty
That I've been locked away

Like any number
The days 
Inevitably decompose
Into hours
Minutes
Seconds
Milliseconds 
Microseconds
Nanoseconds 

And just as suddenly recompose
Into an eternity

I liked the old way of doing things

-SK
If only I could fold inside myself
Like a jack-in-the-box in reverse
Arm upon chest
Leg upon arm
Boxed away
Until it is safe to come out
Or at least quiet
What a gift it would be
To be deprived of sensation
Just for a while

-SK
Growing up the dogwood tree in my parents’ yard was my favorite play thing. 

When I was young I climbed it’s branches and escaped to a world of my own.  Where I captained a boat besieged by pirates, or flew a plane to rescue a friend, or simply lived above it all, away and alone. 

When I was older I would sit on the bench underneath the tree and think. About everything and nothing. In those afternoons I wrote stories in my head. Not stories but books. Epic books, great American books, books about special girls overlooked and under-appreciated.  

When I was older still I would pluck a flower and place it behind my ear just so. And close my eyes and dream of love. The love of fairy tales where a woman lost is finally found.

Growing up the dogwood tree in my parents’ yard was my fount of hope. A sign of spring and springs to come. A promise that time would move but it would stay. Constant.

-SK
‘Teen Mom’
 
Mom, off to a dinner theatre with friends
Dad and I spent the day together.
Flipping through TV channels
he settled on ‘Teen Mom’.
 
When Mom returns home,
asks how the day went,
what we watched,
she is mortified. 
 
I try to explain it was a gift.
She is not prepared to listen
does not want to hear about it.
‘Teen Mom’
is not dignified enough for her 87 year old husband.
 
What she will not listen to is her loss. 
Back-to-back episodes played
as Dad shared with me
the joys and pain raising us three.
He shared
how hard it was sometimes.
He reminisced
on how they made it through each time.
Sometimes a little worse for the wear,
sometimes much stronger.
He laughed about the little things
etched indelibly in his mind.
 
Yes, what a gift it was
to hear his intimate memories
raising us.
Memories
I might not have heard,
had he not continued to see the
Moms and their babies 
sparking those memories.
 
I am grateful.
Although he may not remember
where I live,
how many children I have,
where he lives,
where he is supposed to sleep each night; 
the memories of our childhood
through his lens,
were shared that day.
 
Yes, what a gift it was.

-TS
I touch my face
and the smell of
lemongrass shea butter soap
brightens my day
like warm sunshine.

-TS
To see their smiles
share our lives
each Friday
via a technology
they do not comprehend
that at times
brings laughter & giggles
only seeing one eye
or a forehead,
comforts me.

-TS
My thoughts today flit around
like a hummingbird’s wings.
I take hold of one, only for it to slip away
as if in outer space, untethered.
I grasp for another. 
I resign myself for the evening
to nestle into a book
that has beckoned me all day
get a good night’s rest
and try again tomorrow.

-TS
We haven’t lost our jobs
It’s not a graduation year
Our food is more than plenty
We are blessedly healthy

There is so much we can do
In this roomy house of ours
The weather has been perfect
We’ve had more time to connect 

Yet I am close to weeping
One moment, then another 
The uncertainty of all of this
Akin to a dark and deep abyss

-RB
Feed the ducks 
Their usual food sources are gone

We don’t think of the ducks 
We’re used to seeing them, enjoying them
Without thinking about how they get their food 
The ducks are still there, paddling furiously
Unfed 

I sat down yesterday and wrote
A thank you to every teacher 
That has a child of mine in class
The virtual ones

Before I sent the fourteenth email
The responses came flying in
Hungry ducks paddling to the water’s edge
Grateful for the bread chunks thrown at them

Feed the ducks 
Their usual food sources are gone

-RB
Birthday parades 
With honking cars, homemade signs 
And cheering children
Made me wish 
For longer snatches of happiness

-RB
The drops
Falling
From the spout
Become a 
Gush
Then a spatter
Intermittently
All day
A harmony 
For the cardinals
To dance to

-RB
He was angry and disappointed
Nothing was working out as planned
He had spread his wings and flew
Was enjoying the freedom and view

The grounding came as an ugly shock
It made the flying seem like a tease
A taste of what he had longed for
Then suddenly being told, no more

Now he is here with clipped wings
Trying to find his way, a new way
As an adult in his parents’ nest
Is he their child, their peer or their guest
Today sucked
And I don’t want to write a poem. 

But i will. 

It is done.

-JW
Apologies to Will Smith

Yo this is a story all about how 
my life got flipped, turned upside down
I'd like to take a minute, 
just sit right there, 
to tell you how I became the Queen of the Living Room Chair.

In Fairfax County Schools I was teaching class
On the piano is where I let all the time pass
Singin' some songs and relaxin all cool
Teachin the chorus all day in the school
When the coronavirus who was up to no good
Started making trouble in my neighborhood
We had one little infection and gov'ner got scared 
He said "You better stay home you better go no where!"

I whistled for my dogs, they always stay near
I wear my mask at the store, don't you fear.
If anything, I could say that these days are rare
But I thought, "nah forget it, I'll wait for clean air!"

I've been sitting in my house about 7 or 8
Days or weeks, I can't keep it all straight
I survey my kingdom
I straighten my hair
And sit on my throne in my living room chair. 

-JW
Sunday:
I’m living my best life!
Monday:
What a good day!
Tuesday:
Will someone please talk to me?
Wednesday:
Despondent again. 

The cycle continues!

-JW
All of the things that were looming 
       The pile of clothes, the trim that needs painting, the overstuffed closet

Still stare at me

Now that I have the time to fix these things 

I need to find the will.

-JW
In the soft light of the evening,
When colors turn a muted grey
There is a sadness with the sinking
Of the sun, of the day

In the best times of our lives
We wake with plans our rest has spawned
But do the hours we contrive
Match the promise of the dawn?

-JH
Early Birds (first clients of the day)

Your lispy greeting 
With sleep-filled eyes
Speaks to my soul
Sometimes I wish we could both
Crawl back into bed

You're a Tigger
Bouncing on springs
How to dial down the whirling dervish
And retain the fragile joy?

Maybe I will see you
Or maybe your wails
Will be the only clue
That you are there, somewhere
A tempest in your family's teacup

-JH
Among those who 
ponder 
and
study
and
theorize
about
what
God is 
saying and doing through this plague
What 
cosmic signs are there for us in its timing and 
scope 
I am finally comforted today by a reminder
that God is not in 
the storm
the earthquake
the fire
the plague
But in the 
still 
small 
voice 
inside
And He breathes not 
desolation and 
end times
But a 
whisper of an 
invitation
Turn to me
Walk with me
Trust in me

-JH
The baby stacks the nesting cups
One into the other
Then un-nests them
One out of the other.
Then again.
One into the other.
One out of the other.
Watching her work is calming
Like watching waves crash on shore
Or watching leaves fall off trees
Or watching clouds drift by
The act of learning
Also an act of 
Deliberation 
Concentration
Patience
Repetition
And
Forgiveness
For each cup
Mis-nested.
The act of learning
Like this 
Is also an act of love.
I’m learning.

-Me
Years from now
(When we 
Spin yarns
About all this)
And I recall
Telling him 
There were single rolls of Scott single ply in stock at the store
But that I didn’t buy any- not one single Scott single ply-
And I recall
the face he made
(One of
Dismay
Disbelief
Disapproval
Disappointment)
I wonder
Will it be him
Or me
Who was
The April Fool?

-Me
She wants to try on my red lipstick
And I let her
Not because I love the idea
Of her almost-eight-year-old lips 
Coated in an eighteen-year-old’s lips
But because I know it will bring her joy
And we need joy right now.
I watch her 
As she watches herself in the mirror
Pursing her gaudy red lips
Smiling
Frowning
Pouting
Smirking
And I see for a moment
The young woman she’ll be one day.
She’s going to be stunning
Not because of the red lips
But the golden hair
The Caribbean eyes
And the heart she wears
On her sleeve. 
But tonight she’s still seven going on eight
And she wants to wipe the lipstick off
Worried that it could stain
The blanket she’s slept with every night
Since she was a baby.

-Me
What was the day,
When,
Blowing the feathery heads off a dandelion
And watching them drift 
Like cloud wisps
Or sprites
Or specks of hope
Went from 
A joyful exhale
To a gasp of disapproval?

When do we stop seeing wishes
And start seeing weeds?

Maybe it’s the moment
Your mother fusses at you,
Your hair all sprinkled in dandelion seeds.

-Me
I read 
That some sharks-
Not all-
Must swim 
Without stopping
In order to breathe.
Makos
Great Whites
Whale sharks
Are
“Obligate Ram Ventilators”
Obligated to ventilate by ramming themselves
Through their lives
Because they’ve lost 
the ability 
To stop.
I wonder
If mothers might be
“Obligate Ram Ventilators”
Racing from 
One task
To the next task
To the next task
To the next task
To the next task
The dinner
The dishes
The diapering
The doing
Doing
Doing
Because when they sit 
The household immediately closes in on them
First a cat
Then a dog
Then a kid
Then another
And another
All wanting things
Scratches
Snacks
Stories
Listening ears
Slowly 
Consuming all the oxygen
Surrounding the mother
Until she suffocates
Because she dared
To stop.

-Me
Everything just feels upside down
The oldest says 
through tears
She lists off 
All the awful things-
Global warming
Ocean pollution
The stupid Corona virus
Friends who can be jerks
Sisters who hog all the attention-
She wishes 
Life was more like the books
She reads constantly
Like Harry Potter
Like there could wizards
Or dinosaurs
Or wooly mammoths
And there were no cars
She wishes life 
could be anything
But what it is 
Right now.
And I tell her 
I know the feeling
And I tell her 
We just have to find the magic
Where we are
Like this afternoon
Like flying the kite
And lying on the grass
On the hill
As the sun warmed our shoulders
And the wind rearranged the clouds 
in a monochromatic kaleidoscope 
And the world felt upside down
In just the right way.

-Me