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