April 20: Isolation

Long after you resume
the coming and going freely,
that swirl of errands
and work and children,
my grandchildren,
I shall remain at home,
isolated,
a member of that compromised group,
one who has lived too long,
perhaps with nothing to contribute
to that bustling world,
like butterflies that pass before me,
I see, but I cannot touch.
I feel, but I cannot speak.

Free Photos at Pixabay

TODAY'S PROMPT from Robert Lee Brewer at Writer's Digest focuses in on the effects of the coronavirus, that daily reminder that life has irrevocably changed, affecting us all in ways large and small. 

How do we confront each day? Some days, we comfort ourselves with routine, checking off that to-do list, and taking a daily walk. We can exhaust ourselves to sleep by binge watching TV, or reading, or making phone calls to loved ones, enhanced by FaceTime or Zoom, still missing the physicality of hugging our loved ones. 

The chaotic frenzy of 'breaking news' -- each broadcaster more intense than the last -- makes me want to get insanely drunk. In a loud bar. With a sports channel screened overhead (soccer, maybe something more physical, football?). Trump's assertion that the coronavirus can simply 'wash' over the country infuriates me. We have over 40,000 dead in the United States today. We may have plateaued, but that's the size of a small city. So many lives and dreams lost.

Yes, I embrace isolation -- no sharing of germs. But I still look forward to that day my extended family will gather together at dinner, or I can quilt with sewing friends, or I can walk at the park with my grandchildren, my only fears for them, a scraped knee.