Despite the heart-wrenching news
I told myself,
In spring you must believe.
You no longer know if it’s tears or rain
Pouring down the window panes. Resurrection?
Just a word
As empty as the tomb. Angels
Have no humour, not being familiar with
Bedroom frolics and the pungent
Whiffs of lovely haired pineapple
Lilies. Despite their fleshiness
Winged messengers prefer roses
To what smells
Like something has died.
Despite its outrageous facelessness,
In spring you must believe.
Two days ago two chicks
Hopped their way to our flat.
The big chipmunk chick is Doddie,
The tiny one Tanny—its charcoal down
And stillness make it look like an inkblot
That looks like the mask you wear
When you go outside. Rules say keep safe
Distance and you think keepsake
And trying to keep life
Normal for the sake of your child.
Huge crows hover over our balcony.
Everything that still goes unexplained
Darkens the horizon. No answers.
No respite from the psychological
Violence of it all.
(This poem was first published in Self-Quarantine Lines, Jennifer K. Dick’s friendly blog.)