This is what happens
when tragedy strikes, as
surely this pandemic is—
certain private rituals
begin to occur, and time slows
for us to understand:
a walk twice around
the inner rooms of our home
in the evening hour
drinks again at an exact
hour, and meals un-missed
routinely taken, no longer
with the flavor of surprise;
exactly performed,
and each day the hours tighten
and time slows to a crawl.
We hug each other more often
and claim our love
and gratitude for what has
already been, and think about
what may come to be—
for we are no longer busy with life,
and very un-busy with ourselves.
Tomorrow we may lean on the porch rail,
and maybe wave up at the sky
that is always there, wondering
how long we might have to go
so let us make due, offer love
wherever we can,
our time might be at hand,
and if not remember
this hour
for the time ahead.
David Kherdian, 2020