a golden day filled with cake and friends.
But that's not the important part. What matters is
that our glorious old world still existed last year,
in all its flawed splendor. All gone now.
I don't miss it for myself, I've already lived a lifetime.
I'm sorry for the children. They don't understand,
can't possibly understand, this pandemic.
She tells her mother she wants her other life back,
misses Owen, Shelia, Elle, teacher Miss B.,
lunch in the cafeteria and recess. Especially recess.
Sighing, I wipe my teary, red eyes.
If I don't stop now, I'll weep all day,
I take slow, deep breaths, calm again.
NOTES:
I've decided that what and how I write isn't really poetry,
it's more like journaling.
But I also say, so be it. It's how I do it. ❤️
NOTES:
I've decided that what and how I write isn't really poetry,
it's more like journaling.
But I also say, so be it. It's how I do it. ❤️
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