quarantine

I can still see bromeliads growing
  from behind the glass, stalks projecting,
reaching, golden crowns lifting.

And I can see wisteria blooming,
  hanging fragrant purple heads,
mourning in the morning light. 

Birdsong penetrates my walled-off ears,
  and hummingbirds and butterflies
are still winging into, out of view. 

The rain still washes everything
  green this spring, more richly green
than ever I remember. 

And even from my exile
  I send words into the world,
small arrows of arcing prayer

that cheat the disquieting quiet.
  I hold you from afar, dear world.
You cannot keep me out.

Liz McFadzean

As we’ve all been experiencing the lock-down of Covid 19, I’ve had some of my friends living in senior living facilities on my mind.  These friends who have weathered so many of the twists and turns of life, are inspiring me still.  There is Carole in Kansas, who recently moved into a retirement community, into the same complex with her sister.  They’ve quarantined together, and as meals are brought to them each night, they pray and play Canasta and catch up on “The Crown”.  Carole lost her beloved Sid last December after a long illness and a quick decline.  But she exudes peace and good humor in these turbulent times.

And there is Joan, another widowed friend who two years ago retired from her job in a school office, to a community of over 50-year-olds.  Her daughter lives nearby, but Joan rebuffed all of Steph’s offers to bring her groceries.  She sweetly asked her daughter to stay away (keep your microbes to yourself, Steph.  I’m fine.) But Stephanie just needed to put eyeballs on her mom.  So she came by and they spoke to each other through the glass. 

And there is Midge, one of my most literate friends.  We were in the same book group for a long time.  She’s read more books than I’ve ever thought about, and she remembers each one.  She also has clipped out poems for me over the years, tucking them in envelopes when we don’t see each other face-to-face.  She has moved to Northern California and is also in lock down in the senior apartment to which she and her husband have retired.  It was Midge who emailed me recently and asked me if I’ve written any poems for the pandemic.

I hadn’t yet.  I haven’t FELT entirely imprisoned.  I still have the freedom in this national “lock-down” to go on walks in my neighborhood with my grandchildren (carefully keeping six feet from anyone else out on a stroll).  My husband and I still eat dinner with my daughter and her husband and boys each night.  We socially distance from our friends and neighbors, and we order food to be delivered, but it isn’t total seclusion because we have each other.  And we have the phone.

I dedicate this poem to Carole, Joan and Midge, to Keith, Leona, and others I know who have to wait for dinner to be brought to their doors.  I put myself in their shoes and imagine viewing the world I love from behind the glass.  And this I know…it is still exquisite.