i just need a little rest
a week or so would suffice
no time to be pressed
give myself a time to realize

let me figure things out
there's a lot going around in my mind
let the season be in drought
i'll see what i can find

go away for now
what i need is no one's company
i may have no idea how
but let me rest harmoniously

The questions exist:
Whether lock down in this space
Preserves the life or just saves face?;
Why quarantine locks healthy up
While hellions riot and disrupt?

She's 92 and all alone
Stuck inside a nursing home
"No visitors," the Guvner said,
And fear became the COVID dread.

"Bring out your bodies!"
"Bring out the dead!"

She walks a bit from bed to door,
Must wear a mask, if nothing more.

Alone, she rests, though it's a chore
To see faceless helpers on her floor.
Her handlers? Gowned, masked, and visored
As if she's the one who's virus scoured.

"How will I speak my 3000 words a day?"
My mother asked on the phone today.
"Speak now to me," I edged words in,
And listened to my Mom, cooped in.

If COVID doesn't **** her, empty hallways might;
She tries to speak to anyone who passes nigh,
But they are in a hurry to cancel someone's light,
And so the nights and days go crawling by.

"Bring out your bodies!"
"Bring out the dead!"

The relief of sheet and blanket, nestled between hands and heart.

Floods my being with irrational safety and solace.

I never want to leave.

I rest, I rest,
Under the sun.
No way, no way,
It can't burn.
I look up,
It looks down.
The glare, the glare,
I speak out my prayer.
The sun, the sun,
I want to be there.
The grass silky beneath,
As I blindly stare.

If you suddenly bumped at him
along the way,
Please don't turn your back,
Don't look away.
For years of loving him,
I have only been
stealing glances,
staring
when he is busy laughing
with his friends
or when he is talking
with the girl he admires.
But to you who will love him,
stare all you want
like as if you'll never get tired.
I'm sure he'll love that.

He cracks jokes
when some funny words
can be used as puns.
Laugh for him
if the joke is funny
and laugh at him
if it's nothing but corny.
Love him still
even at his funniest
or corniest moment.
I'm sure he just wants to see
and make you laugh.

He loves to draw
and that
will make you
love him more.
Don't envy other girls
if you see their faces
painted on his canvass.
Your face has already been etched
on his sketchpad,
some has been laminated,
some in picture frames.
But I am sure,
more than those arts,
you have already been sketched,
painted and etched
in his heart.

He can be a poet.
It will give you warmth
when you read your love story
written in his poetry.
Write for him,
don't mind the rhymes,
just write
what your heart wants.
Make your I love yous
a poetry
and he will drown you
with his I love you, too.

To the woman of his future,
he gets tired sometimes
but don't give him up.
Rest with him
and be his home.

Love his every imperfection.
He is flawed but he doesn't mind.
So love him no matter what.

To the woman of his future,
let me be with him for a while.
Just in this present times,
even just in this short now.

The woman of his future,
I hope it's me
so for a lifetime,
I have him
to call mine.

© Tres

The chill breeze, long awaited, finds its whisper
in the tall grasses,
tilting the hydrangeas, full and round, pink and purple
as the hewn lawn, more fragrant as dusk nears,
cushions the fawn,
the newborn to again perch precariously
atop unsteady spindles,
to weave through his mother’s legs as she pokes,
then slides through the brush.
And as I raise my brow over the hammock's edge,
the squirrels hunch and chew and hop in unison
as they laugh quietly, my idleness risible,
before a third and final turn of the paragraph
renders me drowsy, the tome now abreast my breast
as a lazy arm falls without the swaying catch in surrender.