Isolation I
My heart hurts
I cannot see my precious innocents
who are only four and seven
some days I think they will forget me
as if I never existed
My grown children are bitter and cynical
this, too, hurts my heart
because I brought them into this hard world
I can never make it up to them
I have been hard myself
though inside I feel as soft as an eight-year-old
I lost my darling cat the other day
I held my face against his
beautiful coat while the vet
administered the sleep drug
as I hugged my sweet friend until his life was done
Now I await a new and special drug
my partner needs it even more;
the partner with whom I bicker
you might think we participate in an Olympic competition
I resent him for not one sound reason
yet my heart hurts for hundreds of reasons
sometimes all it takes is a song
and I cry
Maybe my heart is too small and that’s why life seems so painful
I need a bigger heart
Because people have been so mean to each other,
someone has to hold the grief close and not let loose the
guns and tears,
It might as well be me
~~~~~~
Isolation II
emails sign off with
“I’m working remotely
here’s my personal number in case you need me” (please don’t need me)
wish the reader a standard “have a good day!”,
knowing the possibility of “have a happy” went out the window months ago.
With laptop Windows open
Spotify new age music on rotation
I gaze out my own front window toward morning’s eastern glare;
pigeons flock to a neighbor’s roof peak
as she shovels yet another scrim of an impossible heartbreak winter from her driveway,
groomed so that I simultaneously admire and detest her perfection, mostly because I struggle to complete a mere single task, not to mention being paid for a full day’s work (extra credit for assimilated guilt, please)
I remember my former mental vigor, the uncanny speed I displayed in fulfillment of a simple request, and the selfless dedication on which I (used to) pride myself
“If I Zoom one more time I’m gonna puke” (said as a joke)
...one more time and I’ll have that secret emotional breakdown about which I’ve fantasized as I watch my own tiny face and hag-like neck tucked
within a grid of other tiny faces as we discuss even tinier problems in the face of economic collapse, lives-lost, and heart-aching statistics, all which could have been rendered so avoidable.
~~~~~
Isolation III
My deepest heartache, though,
resides with the lonely un-rescue-ables
like my mother.
She lives in what they call a studio apartment
that’s how they get you
*The fancy lobby chandelier
*Nurses on each floor
*24-hour Bingo
way to stave off the doom
There’s a pond outside her window
but the window is high above her wheelchair so she cannot see the sky,
or the trees or pond with ducks that swim there.
More like a prison, her studio is a place
where she cannot even get to the bathroom without a stranger’s help
Surrounded by the same four walls for 300 days running,
except for the days she went to “hospital” to heal from the virus
she loved the change of scenery,
but eventually hated the loud TV and missed the ducks that she cannot see from her window
Like a good, conditioned prisoner, she returned,
captive
while my own heart waits
for another song
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