“Stung by a bee before noon, but glad for its company anyway, in a world stark with absence. The few actual people who show up are my heroes: the lone worker at the store running out to meet me curbside, bringing five cans of Chunk Light Tuna. “Say hello to your cats” he says, and I could hug him and kiss him for his kindness! In my dreams, there are other small moments of love that I can’t quite remember. I keep recycling the years through my mind. So much surplus, days you could refill, and refill and refill. Whether your currency was beauty, or talent or your steadfast ability to show up every single day, you had a place you considered home. Now as I dig, and tie up roses, and remove last year’s dead stalks, my sense of being uprooted is disarming. I’ll retrace my steps, each twist and curl I’ve cherished, and examine it here on my knees or looking out the windshield of my car. But I can’t go back. There’s no going back now. The violation of trust, and the violence of a separation imposed by faceless authority has ended an era of innocence. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for what’s still intact. The marsh marigolds I planted two years ago on the bank of a pond are blooming, and growing well. Daffodils are robust, despite being clobbered by snow. Driving back through the town, people are sitting out on the street again, with instruments and I wave. The town green seems to be alive. How nice it would be if someone recognized me. Otherwise, I go about my business like a ghost. Shut out of everything unless I agree to camouflage my features. Sanitize my hands. Treat you, and myself like a danger. There are so many things we left unsaid and here we are, at this fork in the road. I always felt it coming. Maybe you didn’t.”
