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Poem
I cannot see it, yet I believe it as fact:
Death has swallowed me, it’s no victory
but the sting of it impales my soul with grief  

Doubt, we are told
is an instrumental part of faith
we can suspend it
or embrace it
as it knocks on the door our souls
seeking, no demanding
entry into our lives

That which is unseen 
invades my sense of life
as the unseen pandemic of the time
squeezes the very life out of the one
who gave to me
life
and unconditional love

I cannot see it, yet I know it as a fact
Death is consuming my mother
and this victory is so hollow  

How can a life of great strength plus six
be taken by the ignorance of others
celebrating their lives at sea
returning with an evil load 
Does that defy our understanding?

Have you no shame?
Do you not care?

From one ward to another 
in the place of healing
the unseen spread
taking from the most vulnerable 
each breath of joy that was left to share

Death is swallowed up in victory
Where, O death, is your sting?  

The leaves of autumn fall around 
in golden hues that remind me of my mother’s hair
gracefully lining the ground with a carpet of mulch
that will, in time, 
bring new life in the coming spring

The hope of life to come
is dormant now but will soon be seen
as a mad monk from a different time of plague once observed:
there is resurrection written on every new leaf of spring

Death, you may claim a victory
but the sting of what is to be is still to come
I cannot see it, but I know it is there  

That I believe
and in faith, hope and love
Together with my doubt
I long for the first bud to be on my tree

A tree of life, not death
A tree of rest, nor torment
A tree of folly
that causes many to stumble
and few to believe

Death may claim its victory
but this season is cancelled 
no points to be given
Season over
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