Surprised by flowers of a full spring day
Scablands grey, tall clouds passing through
Blue skies in procession, trailing dark
Blowing curtains, rays of sunlight
Fritillaria forgotten from last year’s seed catalog
Nod checkered lilies over maple leaves
Amidst wind-flowers daffodils crocus.
But below
Where blue-eyed grass towers
Over microscopic lomatium unseen
Cream golden nemophila nestles
Amidst basalt slag, cryptobiotic forests, phlox.
Shouts of play all stilled from the schoolyard
This morning recess, but birdsong is loud
Wind stirs spring branches while the neighbors
Work on the annual float for the parade
That will never come this year
Fear on the mild breeze
Contagion in every face
Frustration leads the desperate astray
From love during pestilence, friendship
In the dark wood, phone calls like its
1975. Kyrie eleison ring the wind chimes
White-crowned sparrows at my feet.
Cacophonous Chinese plastic bagpipes
Surprisingly sweet Romanian fiddle
Pre-electric wind-up phonograph
Silver flute carrying old names
Box filled with wax symphonies
Golden boy’s mellow clarinet
Digital box remembering old songs
How to live during the plague:
Stay in your house
(for how long?)
Until the cities be desolate, without
Inhabitant. . .
(Not so long, we pray)
Until watching The Office again seems
More unbearable than the ventilator?
Until the time and times and a time
Have passed us by, the remnant?
The children kept from the sky
The grandmother kept from her busy acquisition
Grandfather fuming in frustrated illusion
This wasn’t the deal – there were
Unlimited Ford Mustangs, manufactured houses,
Hot Pockets, ammunition stores (keeping the neighbors
At bay amidst all the abundance?)
Scramble for toilet paper, limit
Consumption, milk down the drain, harvest
Rots in fields.
The prison cell appears in essence – no distraction
from the digital bars, no limit to boredom
Hold on until the cough comes (maybe
you already had it) Steer clear
quack remedies pushed from
high places, wear your mask though
the mask has slipped, lament the poor billionaire
stuck on his yacht, realize nurses as followers of
high calling, but with no protection, no respect, no
reprieve from infection, keep your chin up,
your hair down, don’t forget to bathe, eat
but not too much, lay off the booze, move
in a haze, enjoy the sunshine, free time, paint
pictures, sing a song, write a poem, remember
days gone by, remember there are days to come,
new countryside at the end of the tunnel,
structures of dual power, possibility of
fresh air, put away your skull mask (put
one on Posada!) wear a human face, keep
a human heart, free the chained bird that
flutters at your soul center, ponder querencia,
trace out faded figures, restore garbled words,
Stack up stones of love.
Author: Duncan MacNae
Exiled Gael, scion of the Dust Bowl, dweller within Divine Grace, admirer of mountains, I have made my peace with trout and the starlings. Looking for a river and healing trees.
duncanmacduncan5@gmail.com
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