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Personal Note:
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Poem
I miss the nuances of daily life
while weeks are frozen in this quarantine.
I miss the lost normalcy of my days
in all aspects, obvious and unseen.
I miss turning my head to read the spines
of the novels on the library shelves,
I miss the crackle of books’ cellophane
and the old people who sit by themselves.
I miss the box scores in the sports section
as I wait for lunch in a diner booth,
and I miss the plump and jaded waitress,
but that’s only if you want the plain truth.
I miss my beer at the neighborhood pub
on evenings after lackluster classes,
I miss the Golf Channel on the TV
behind the barkeep cleaning pint glasses.
I miss taking my time in the market,
reading labels and enjoying the task,
instead of quickly grabbing my items
and donning rubber gloves and a facemask.
I miss the sandy and rocky shoreline
where I have daydreamt and cleared my head,
where now I am greeted with BEACH CLOSED signs
posted on padlocked metal gates instead.
Living in quarantine is not that bad;
it’s tedious rather than being hard,
and it’s produced time for me to reflect
in the pastoral setting of my backyard.
Weeks of thinking and puttering about
in the grass and gardens of my home
has made me appreciate the beauty
of Mother Earth without having to roam.
I have witnessed old man winter depart
and have seen the harbingers of the spring.
I’ve noticed the nubbing buds on the trees
and the melodies of the birds who sing.
I have admired my stately blue spruce
and my red and squat Japanese maple
while sipping my afternoon cup of joe
peacefully at my patio table.
I’ve spied on the squirrel digging up nuts
like a pirate retrieving his treasure
and a cardinal at my stone birdbath
has never failed to give my eyes pleasure.
I’ve scattered seeds for a plague of grackles,
who peck around my lawn and garden beds.
I look at their yellow and piercing eyes
and iridescent blue sheen of their heads.
I have watched the stout red-breasted robin
dine on worms as if eating spaghetti,
and the flowering trees drop white petals
like midnight revelers with confetti.
The quarantine has reacquainted me
with the microcosm out my back door
and allowed me to connect with the world
that I basically neglected before.
I will watch through the late spring and summer
and be buried in books come September.
It won’t be the virus or the quarantine,
but the birds and the trees I’ll remember.
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