A COVID-19 Easter

The clouds donned a veil today
robins foraged on thirsty ground
while a trio of doves swept by

Of course, that’s poetic nonsense –
an attempt at finding beauty
in what is really a grey reality.

Nations hunker in against the threat
and Easter morning arrived
without the fanfare of egg hunts
or children’s raised voices –
certainly not the bonnets, gloves
and scratchy dresses of youth.

But that’s how life is, isn’t it?
Compass set on determination
and before we know it, currents
shift, and we are headed into
the unknown once again.

I donned a grey veil today,
thoughts clouded by chirp-less gloom
could not lift my head to find the sky

This is the nature of hopelessness
to find one’s self confined without
power to alter the course –

This is the struggle before resignation
at worst; acceptance, at best, and
either in time for the next tidal change.

(Too dark, my husband says, can you change the ending?  Make it more hopeful.
It’s implicit in the ending, 
I counter.  Maybe not.  It is how I am feeling after so many days of trying to stay positive.  But here’s what I know:  I have been in this place before – emotionally immobilized and overwhelmed – and I’ve always found my way out.  Writing helps.  Meditation, walks in nature, and a good laugh do too.  I share this here today, so that you know you’re not alone in what you are feeling.  I share it as one who knows that to reflect upon and acknowledge personal turmoil is better than to suppress it.  I share this with the commitment to ride this current wave, openly and honestly, so that when it’s all over we have a true of record of this time in history, from a personal perspective, anyway.  Thanks for reading.)

 

Is This War?

War is hell.  You can’t photograph a flying bullet, but you can capture genuine fear.”

The bomb has dropped
control slips from our grasp

We pray for a parachute
for someone to pull the cord

numbers escalate,
lives plummet

We offer encouragement
isolated voices faltering

moment of impact imminent
the implosion inevitable

impact reverberates
responsibility moot.

(For Reena’s Exploration Challenge:  the quotation, author unknown.  Image my own.)

 

 

Toxicity

Sold my soul for union –
destruction built-in

Narcissism is a bastard
luxuriates in self-catering

Did not anticipate loss –
innocence slaughtered

Force to grow sensibility
don a tough shell –

Would not let betrayal
call me by name.

It was not meandering
that shredded my heart

but the loss of a child
caught in the crossfire

too young to discern
parental alienation.

(Image from personal collection.)

Resilience

Purpose –
much coveted
despair-driven –
has returned.

Energy –
motivation
to proceed –
building

Willingness –
once vibrant
now constrained –
resists.

Chasms –
loss created
unparalleled –
require bridges.

Purpose –
discovery born
enthusiastic –
persists.

(Resilience first appeared here in October, 2018.  I submit a slightly revised edition here for Ragtag Community’s daily prompt: resilience.)

The Pawn

Of course she is away
caught in the schism
of her parents’ divorce
played like a pawn

She is emotionally numb
incapable of articulating
wants and desires – broken
though no one notices.

(Poem originally appeared on Twitter.  Visit me @Vjknutson.  Image from personal collection.)

Loss and Light

Absence fills the silence
with shadowy wings
becomes a raven
sharp-taloned,
razor-beaked
I cower

loss too
immense
for comprehension
would lay my body down
be consumed, but for
the children’e eyes pinning me
their woeful gazes,
begging to be uplifted
I am abandoned
and not
a flicker
called to be
beacon.

(Art from personal collection)

Spirit Stands Strong

Progress – seldom linear –
tosses me into unexpected decline –
stranded and incapacitated.

My son – with labour-hardened strength
leaps to my side, steadying me
and I feel the fear in his caring grip.

My daughter, ever compassionate,
reaches out for me with horror-filled eyes
as my body crumples onto the bed.

My husband, my oak, seeks to comfort
his voice betraying the helplessness
this futile predicament imposes.

Beloveds, I know that you see me
this dis-abled, non-functioning shell
weakened and sickly, lying on this bed.

Do not be deceived – that is not me –
it is only an illusion –
a vessel – temporarily fettered.

I am, in essence, beside you –
ambitions and desires intact.
Feel me there, tall and proud.

Sense the wholeness of my being
remember me for the woman I am yet to be –
My spirit stands strong.

(I first wrote this poem in August of 2015, when efforts to sit up and visit with friends caused a collapse.  I wrote it as reassurance for my family that the woman they knew was still strong.  I post here now as a reminder to myself – of how far I have come, and how strong my spirit remains.)