The young couple
just a few weeks into their love
sheltered together
the aged couple
side by side so long they rarely speak out loud
remained in, quietly
children stayed home from school
university students returned to their parents’
people sheltered with their dog, their cat, their bird
their recipes, their baking supplies
their Facebook pages, their Twitter feeds,
their closets overfull, their hedges overgrown
their papers to file, their new exercise videos
their Zoom meetings, their redefined work lives.
Tulip bulbs, planted last fall, refusing to read headlines
have burst forth from their underground shelter
disregarding the laws of physical distance and masks
entering the world boldly upright, comingling colors,
blooming with promise and the sheer delight
of coming unrestricted into this world.
I too have been weathering the outbreak
underground
dividing the day into increments of hours, half hours
podcasts, poetry
yoga apps, audiobooks
walks, silence
daily decisions about food, meals, provisions, supplies
will I have enough?
There isn’t much one person needs
18 hours awake each day
changes perceptions
the what-I-might-need growing large and bloated
the toothy smile overtaking an entire body in a fun-house mirror
the endless hours provide time
too much time
time unshared
me and the butterflies and the early morning wrens fluttering in the under-watered bougainvillea
me and the roosters and the dogs let out on rooftops or balconies for the first time since nightfall
vigilant and vociferous over empty streets
as if sunrise and bird flight and general silence are dangers
not the noise of the party that went on all night
next door, my neighbors celebrating Día de la Madre
15 people in a space safe for 3
drinking cerveza bought a week earlier
this weekend’s ley seca an unsuccessful attempt
to curb the casual disregard for distance
to limit the gathering of families.
Where people have people
human need for connection
eclipses human need for safety
as it always does?
Here I have no one to massage sore shoulders,
play with a tendril of hair come loose,
curve a body around mine in the too-hot night
that I push away to create a tiny wind tunnel
for air to cool my back, hips, thighs
that I push back in to when the millimeters’ distance
has become intolerable
longing for the feel of the skin that contains you
my body choosing to return, to burrow into you
to take the shape of the ground to your figure.
Moving from lanza baja to guerrero dos
I look up from the ragged blue blanket
that serves as yoga mat
rest my gaze on the opposite hillside
the seam where the tall maize house borders the seafoam green one
catch the glint of wings above
kissed silver by the near-white morning sun
an arc, a dance
dazzling, fleeting
bursting forth with complete disregard
forming the sky into
bird and not bird
figure and ground
you and me?
I alone on a worn blanket on the ground
a figure with only a shadow to fill the place of not-me
sheltered and safe
corpse-still in savasana
with 17 more hours to go
before my body curls into the memory
where love once held it
all night long.