Pandemic Poems for Us All #4
This goes back a month. I thought this poem-thing was sortof depressing but now, with everything that’s happened since, I’m not so sure.
Week One: Pandemic
Since the first day, I’ve walked
the road devoid of snow,
past the open meadow, grim
with dun grasses, and there, near
an open stretch by the pines,
a flock of robins, twelve or so,
looking thin, foraging for grubs
in fallow sod. Next day, walking
near that spot again, five deer,
grazing shoots in that same hollow.
The following day, no deer but
half a dozen sky-chipped jays,
screeching like raucous boys
splashing at the pool.
For two days after that, nothing
but the flat of matted grass. Not
good news. Was whatever force that drew
all that life now gone? As answer,
a sudden bloom of floral calls,
hoots and toots, saw-whet owls
tucked inside the blue spruce,
invisible as thoughts of spring.