Spring 2021

even on days when the sun pours through the sky

as Iaughter floats above the trees

while a red bird pauses on the verdant grass,

my heart feels the heaviness of the burden

of a year of restriction and contraction and breathing in a world where a cruel

virus closed in around us and left us huddled inside with too much hand sanitizer.

How do remember that it’s okay to breathe deeper and feel safe in our bodies?

and in the arms of friends?

How do we remember if we forgot to remember that breathing is a privilege and our birthright and our livelihood?

How do we remember what it feels like not to be afraid?

How do we begin again and begin anew when our hearts are broken?

when our spirits feel worn and heavy and lethargic?

when the green buds on the trees show promise, but all we can see are our cloudy eyes?

Let us rest our heavy hearts and feel the promise of hope,

Even slowly and steadily, as the snail begins to open her eyes to the ocean around her.

We dust ourselves off and put down the wine and technology

To feel the call of our spirit, that stays alive and beats vibrantly on her own

even when we can’t feel it,

even when we forget it’s there,

even though we push it away by making other people comfortable

and forgetting that we too have the power to stand.

To remerge,

even with additional grief

a few extra pounds and

more grey hairs and sour anxiety about the new normal.

Perhaps it wasn’t ever normal.

Perhaps we’ll never be the same.

That the words social distancing and viral load have left holes in our hearts that are too vast to be ignored

When standing next to someone close might make us sweat a little,

it’s ok to go tenderly.

To begin to soften into the now.

moment by moment.