Sunday, April 5, 2020

Poem: Fog

We’ve had some particularly sunny days lately. Sure, we’ve had our fair share of rain—a thunderstorm even hit. We got tornado warnings, and the river flooded. But overall, the weather has been nice. Still, I was inspired to write this poem by two things: one foggy afternoon where I found myself transplanting my pansies as soon as I could and all the craziness in the world right now.

I don’t think I mentioned it here, but the COVID-19 has shut down my workplace for at least a month. I’m fortunate enough to be financially stable and have family at home, but I have plenty of friends who are struggling financially or socially. I think we’re all struggling mentally. I’m going stir crazy. I read. I write. I try to get out of the house and work in the garden, but some days, it just isn’t enough.

The world is an uncertain place these days, even more so than usual. So, as writers do, I wrote about it.


It’s hard to think
that yesterday
I stepped out in a world
bathed in sunshine
and today
the white expanse
bares all my work
like words sketched
in a thought bubble.

remember how I
uncovered the dead wood
and exposed the black salamander,
how the rain washed
away the topsoil
I carefully laid
to prevent floods
that came anyway.

I hang the ferns
and walk from the porch
to the mailbox,
unable to see one
from the other,
my hand near translucent
in front of my face,
yet I take another step
and wonder
what I’ll find
around the hundred trees.

I stare into the white abyss
and listen
for the birdsong
but none comes.
maybe tomorrow—
but not today.


Let’s chat! What did you think of the poem? What are some activities you do to cope with being cooped up at home?

Similar poems: Waking Up, Lost as a Leaf, and Silent Words

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