One Child
Today they wrap tape around the playground,
bar the passage up the ladder, down the slide,
roll the swings and tie them
where they can’t be reached.
A child watches,
brushing her hair slowly from her face,
one foot stirring dust.
The scuffed knees of her jeans show
how she likes to climb.
Yellow signs say caution, closed
and, to avoid potential contamination,
words she cannot read.
The workers throw their shovels, hammers, tape,
into a pickup, brush wood chips from their hands
and drive away.
She looks across the space where just last week
she dashed, hair flying, with her friends.
A frown creases her brow.
She searches for some sign,
some place to make believe,
to find new magic this slow morning
but no-one’s there to play.
Tanka for these COVID days
Shaken by the shock
these shut-down days
I find time
sliding
stretched and almost still
Sitting on the step
listening to wood thrushes sing
in evening’s sun
I’m fooled for a moment
thinking everything’s okay
Behind our house
an eagle’s nest high in a fir
a bird waits, watches
in this time of virus doubt
I can’t help but be in awe
Reward
Dusk, but almost bright, this COVID June,
the street is empty, bare and still at eight.
We leave the park and feel the quiet,
nothing but a peep of birds, a blossoming
of low-lit lamps, the watching windows
of each house. I anticipate the magic
of this solstice week but contagion-fear,
a barricade, is thrust against my hope.
Waiting in the turn lane for the traffic light
I glance behind, gaze at the open road
and see a shadow from the sky— a duck!
As if in compensation for the quell,
this mallard lands beside the center line
and looks about. Delight, a touch of luck.
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