Painting by Pamela Heater
After the Great Pause
I never wanted to leave the sudden silence,
of the pandemic, the global pause
shared like a Girl Scout pact
and the masks we colored as badges.
It was was a testament
to a miraculous appearance.
Like Juan Diego carrying down
a Mexican mountain
his cloak full of seasonless roses
from the invisible lady on the hill
to an unbelieving bishop.We were the roses raining down
as we sheltered in the great pause,
the freeway's ceaseless chug disappeared
the wild birdsong come again through the window.
We murmured from behind masks
like love crooners and stopped
being strangers because of mortality
(always five feet apart).After the great pause, I balked at returning
to office, shopping, and gatherings,
to blending with the milling in theaters
and restaurants. We were miraculous
in isolation, and now I watch shoppers
tote bags of nothingness. I miss the haiku moments.But such pauses are always followed by a shift:
And we don't all change at once
or forever—we struggle even in embrace
to trust, to believe again, to be renewed.
We can gift our observations to history,
write glimmers into the corners
like ancient sages tossing scrolls
down from their mountains.
