I had been
on a roll since the new year began. I’ve been revising a collection of poems
written in 2015, one for each month, to see if they might work as a chapbook. I
just ordered a biography of Fanny Brice, one of the few Ziegfeld-related
books I don’t have. Diving back into that sequence of poems is always on the
list of projects. Other poems always come out in between.
As of
yesterday, my employer was able to set my department up to work at home. The
plan now is for two weeks, but since technology now allows us to take calls as
home as well, that plan is all the more flexible. The season, which normally
begins in May, has been pushed back to June. Even that is just an estimate at
this point. A seasonal facility requires time to prepare the grounds, as well
as hire and train the much-expanded staff. For now, my job still exists. My Beloved
is still employed as well, but since his is a much more isolated situation, as
long as the building’s open, he’ll be on site as usual.
I’m feeling grief,
sorrow, fear. They come and go, rational and otherwise. I have my teary
moments, especially alone, but thank goodness for social media, the perfect
medium for social distancing in the friendliest way. Amazon might be out of
powdered milk, but here at Casa Diva, there’s a Mabel Normand Film
Festival on the schedule tonight, courtesy of Cladrite Radio (check them
out!). I am a tireless stocker of basement shelves, so even if an actual food
shortage arises, we will be good for a while.
Poetry has
been the last thing on my mind in the last two weeks. Guy Reed and I had
an interview scheduled for St. Patrick’s Day with Sharon Israel on WIOX
in Roxbury, NY that I asked to be postponed, and all live readings are off, for
the time being. I had no words to speak about what at the time seemed so minor,
at times like these a vanity of sorts. A poem popped out first thing yesterday
morning, though. Not a great poem, but a safe observational piece:
Light
Lights, lights all
around
until the sun rises up
to do its duty,
including the lamp
beside the bed
I’ve had since college,
one on the dresser,
crystal base,
kept after a lover went South,
back East, and I
remained
on the left side of the
river.
A wall sconce
illuminates the stairs,
and the freight train a
few blocks off
is the only traffic
moving.
The birds begin their Spring
song of sex and hope,
eggs for the season glad
for the extra space
tho their brains cannot
compute why.
The air is quieter,
dearer,
busses garaged, cars silent.
Did the leap day give us
twenty-four more hours
to pretend, until the
bulb in our heads went off?
The light on my desk is
on now.
The computer revs its
modest engine,
eager for the day ahead
of
uncertain emails, calls
from frightened customers
whose yearly nirvana’s
been postponed.
Coffee won’t change
things.
Change isn’t in my power
now,
just awe at Creation
pushing me towards
another life, another
reluctant sun.
