In this pandemic, I’m thankful for the chance
to say, I love you, because there’s not
always tomorrow when the world’s been thrown
a curveball. Where’s Superman when you need
him? I thought I could do it, you know, save
the whole universe, but God must have gotten
annoyed with my prayers after a while. Too much
to handle, so many problems all at once. It can’t be
easy being the one who watches over everyone.
I know, just from worrying about my own children,
I have hives in several undisclosed places.
At least my dermatologist says that what they’re
from. An unscientific term she calls motherly unease—
All my joy and anxiety has always been from
my kids. But now it’s only anxiety about mine
and everyone’s kids. Still, each night I set
the table and I’m grateful for the home we
live in, for the walls that shelter us inside—
and for the windows that overlook the garden
where we used to walk beneath the gazebo
beside the roses all in bloom, where we’d talk
about a wedding planned for June, or who’s
wearing what this coming year—and as I place
a glass to the right of each dinner plate
and the Waterford silverware carefully over
the double folded napkins, as I position chairs
for us who used to sit together and enjoy
a meal with banter about the day’s doings—
a parking ticket, a college acceptance letter,
a broken washing machine, a visit to the Vet,
now I’m just grateful to sit together
and for memories of what used to be