April 2nd,
2020
Two weeks in quarantine
and everything is a dance now.
We waltz across the
wooden floors toward the open window,
careful to appreciate
the passing pastel pink
and lavender paintings
performed each sunset.
We do not believe in god
but we believe in something.
Sometimes I don’t
understand irony. (Thanks Alanis.)
I
wonder if it is this-
I was cut to the raw
root, pruned
and potted again and
against all odds,
I’ve taken bloom. My
scalp is healthy.
The other plants pass
disease.
The rest of the world is
dying or crumbling
like the Twin Towers or
Kinetic Sand Castles.
I am a rose under a vase
like in Beauty and the Beast.
Safe in my own glass
castle growing green.
Is this a fever dream?
Is this the hook, line
and sinker?
I get to taste true love
like bait
before we are gutted and
filleted
on ice skating rinks to
keep us cool.
Oh well,
I don’t care.
The joke is funny and
I’m busy
Laughing.
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