One year ago, today I gave myself a personal challenge to write a poem a day during COVID 19 isolation. I optimistically assumed that everything would be back to normal in a month or so. After 36 poems, I stopped the daily regime and wrote when the spirit moved me. It’s been 365 days of our new order. To date, I have written 63 poems.
I had a dream of empty streets, a lifeless, listless scene.
Shuttered storefronts, windows dark and blind.
People sparsely scattered, skirting skittishly around;
Eyes alert, behind muffling masks, smiles blanked.
What happened to the urban bustle, the hustle of daily life?
This seems to be a foreign land with everyone a stranger
distant from one another, no interactions or cheerful greetings;
a mournful quiet; a deep sadness settling down.
What is this world, so far from what I’ve known?
Is this vision real or a scary made up movie scene?
If I pinch myself, will I wake up
to see airplanes flying and people dancing
to hear sounds of laughter and music in the streets?
No. Don’t answer me. I know the truth.
But just for now, let's pretend that reality is a dream
because we can wake from dreams,
and someday soon we will.
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