Will we ever gather again like
we used to? Maybe the younger ones
will. They already do. Us old folks,
not ready to die yet, we’ll gather in
dibs and dabs. A child and their children
here, another child there. A granddaughter,
a grandson, a visit masked. A visit after
testing.
Last Thanksgiving eve was the last big
gathering for us. After that, the covid
meandered through the family, up one side and
down the other, hitting some twice.
The novelty of zooming long
gone. Plague without end. Thankful
we’re all still on
this side.
This has so much quiet love and longing in it. The way you lead in with such a poignant question really caught my attention, and then you gently led me to what you were actually trying to say. Really love this!
Last year I wrote several pandemic poems. It was so raw then. now I am so weary of it all.
I felt the tiredness in this piece, which resonated with me, too, and I am sorry you had folks get sick (some twice). The notion of ‘gathering’ during Covid is still raw for me and I connected with this theme in your poem. ‘Visits’ takes on a whole new meaning these day, right? Thanks for this poem!
None of them had to be hospitalized. Some were bad, but most of the college aged grands seemed to have mild cases.
Yes visits now are definitely not the visits of yesterday.
Thank goodness, but the last line of your comment says it all… Such tough times for everyone!
I was sick thrice, one after vaccination, one before Covid was a thing. I love your longing for what used to be. Well done.
Yes! Just seems to go around and around.
This really resonated with me, powerful and well phrased.
Because my partner is immunocompromised we are only now venturing out cautiously because we can’t keep in a holding pattern forever as the parents of small children, yet there are still many things we do not do. Last night after the half marathon had finished we went for a walk it felt surreal to pass packed restaurants. I don’t think we’ll ever return to such things.
I don’t think we will either.
This is one poem for the anthology. Great!
You expressed yourself and many others here. I felt it. I love how raw this is. Genuinely, I think we all understand. I may not be old yet but I sure do feel like an older person born in the wrong time period
Like a record stuck, stuck, stuck.
Long may you run! Long may you run!
With your chrome heart shining in the sun-
Long may you run!
In 1962 I walked 2 miles uphill both ways up Grand River to high school. The knees aren’t what they were but I’m doing my best to keep on keepin’ on.
keep on keepin’ on
This pandemic has made us nostalgic, very relevant poem.