Every once in a while,
she weeps of what was
and what is today.
The first few months,
She’d cry a little each day;
listening to tallies of the dead
…press conferences
Oh how she would dread!
the stats always on the rise
her home became her prison
of hope and despair
in time she’d try to manage
those blubbering crying spells
two, three or four times a week…
just a little overflow…
you know when you’re embracing life
and then you catch yourself
realizing life’s not so typical
you don’t know when it ever will be.
Every once in a while,
she weeps of what was
and what is today.
And those times
you think of your children
and grandchildren
and your wish has been
only for their happiness
no parent wants to see their children sad,
worried what the future may bring
you want them happy and hopeful
you want them to look forward
to newborns and christenings
to graduations and weddings
yes, those are things that make her weep
knowing their fears are also hers
she can’t remove, they’re theirs to keep
every once in a while,
she weeps of what was
and what is today.
today she had a few errands
the drug store,
the post office had a package
And then to her local grocer
so pleased was she
proud of her deeds
walking with her checkered cart
under midday sunny skies
Every once in a while,
she weeps of what was
and what is today.
And then she arrives
this new reality
slaps her in the face
washing, disinfecting,
wiping down every item
that was touched by others
you know… just in case
washing her favourite mask
cash back credit card
proof of ID health card
and all three condo keys
she’d looked so forward
to sit, enjoy those fresh fruits
a slice or two or maybe three
of fresh baked crusty bread
filled with berries and oranges,
and add some whipped cream cheese
and cold glass of cranberry juice
But the washing, the separating,
the storing and disinfecting
takes at least an hour or so
at last she does sit down
looks out at her balcony
flowers on her mom’s iron table
her tree she now calls her own
she weeps, of what seems so normal
yet, Is still not so
one still does not know
whenever that will be.
(c) tournesol ‘ 2020/08/01
an afterthought
how can one weep
up above the dark blue sky
heavens speak
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Tournesol dans un Jardin 