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Pandemic's Deserted Spaces: Poem #9

PANDEMIC'S DESERTED SPACES

 

A deserted space can be disturbing.

It speaks of empty buildings

and barren earth.

 

Cities once full of energy

and boisterous crowds, now temporarily abandoned

cause imbalance to the psyche. 

 

Yet, the human mind adapts when prompted

to shelter in place, as we are told.

Comply we must as good citizens

of our town, our state, our world.

 

Only go out for food, medicine or other essential need.

And I did exactly that, last evening before bed.

I drove outside the neighborhood

for prescription drugs and take-out-food.

Alarming yet comforting feeling came over me

that I could count on my fingers

the cars that were around, a good sign, I agree.

 

Although relieved that many adhered

as California’s governor ordered,

the gravity of the crisis resounded

by the sight of parking lots deserted,

a state of reality in my head eerily pounded.

 

A deserted space can be disturbing.

It speaks of empty cupboards

and motionless playgrounds.

 

But deserted spaces must be re-imagined.

Because our best chance of survival

is highly dependent on the moral ground

to act to protect each other,

for the good of the many,

for names known and unknown are aplenty.

 

To act to curb the spread of this insolent virus

must be the driving universal call; 

the only acceptable ethical standard

to follow for the good of all.

 

The collateral to this health crisis

is our sense of loss.

Loss of income, freedom of movement,

And loss of lives and loves,

I shudder to think how many.

 

This toxin importing virus has forced us

to rethink what’s important.

Collectively we grieve as the earth grieves

for the heart and mind despondent.

 

A deserted space is a disturbing sign.

It speaks of empty cupboards,

abandoned livelihood and worn out spirit.

 

But a deserted space seems to lead

to flattening the curve of COVID-19 cases;

a good sign that speaks

to the practice of social distancing and how effectively

it helps to curb the spread of this virus.

 

We seek for simple ways

to console ourselves, as this pandemic

has profoundly altered our world,

altered how we go about our daily lives

in a manner that one could say is beyond bold.

 

We adopt extreme habits to ward off risk,

as the virus by the hour, by the day grows endemic.

Yet, we find humor where we can.

Our friend Sue made us chuckle this morning

while practicing social distancing by texting:

“I have washed my hands to Happy Birthday

so many times, I am now 347 years old.”

If truth be told, that quip made the decibel of laughter

in my head increase; increase tenfold.

 

Poem ©Lu Sobredo

Photo ©James Sobredo

ALL RIGHT RESERVED


About the Author 
Lu Sobredo is writer/publisher at Lu Travels Abroad, a blog dedicated to folks whose limitations do not hamper them from traveling. A year into early retirement her world collapsed from the diagnosis of Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA). Her total life changed, but she did not let RA define her. With love from family, friends and an awesome doctor, she regained some functionality--her new normal. She will have RA all her life. And she now writes about life and travel with RA. During the pandemic of 2020, she stays put and writes poetry and a first novel, a travel of sorts but in the heart and mind.


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