Tina Cane
CORONA POEM
Vigilance means crocuses pushing up in grass beyond the confines of my home
where hushed tones and intimations of apocalypse pervade our every gesture
and everything suddenly exists as a finite form of future trash
still I remain
devoted to it all attached to little more than bread crystalline from the freezer
for safe-keeping a new set of coveted staples includes fresh air and the scent
of my daughter’s head wet from the shower the way she says Yes as she unveils
her mane freshly chopped in a fit of boredom two thick braids still in their elastics
curved like parentheses on her desk
another Yes as known systems
dismantle within days I meant to compose a tone poem here today
thinking how another poet wrote I can only be myself when my household is asleep
how now nothing keeps me awake more than the notion that it all go away
used with author’s permission