Tuesday,
or was it Wednesday
perhaps Monday it was
that I sat in the kitchen
leafing through the rolodex in my mind
trying to find the word for when
there are things
that don’t quite fit
that oppose each
other that are not supposed to be —
the paradox of “social distancing ”
the oxymoron of being separated, together
some days, words fall short
most days, words spit out too fast
these days?
these days
unfold like the crumpled up sketch I thought I threw away,
one look at it and I knew
it wasn’t quite right
it sure wasn’t what it should be:
weather this beautiful means a trip to the beach
lessons to be learned yet
classrooms sit there, empty
lights off and signs on storefronts like mirrors
of a reality, of a world we have not faced before
but turns wildly to face us now
new words
find their way out just fine
not as surprised as I am to see them there:
quarantine, pandemic,
crazy, crazy times
new words make room, sure
but new rhythms do too
like the FaceTime ring coming in
that I will not refuse, that I cannot refuse
or the daily walk-sometimes-turned-run
six feet apart from you, yes
but smiling to greet you
in these collective breathing moments
just the same
these days, I am stubborn
much more than I ever have been
stubborn to call
and see your face
and show up for you
and hear these new rhythms tell me:
it is okay that it is blurry
the pixelated mess is beautiful to me
it is okay that I do not don my Sunday best
the casual nature of this moment is beautiful to me
it is okay that dishes are in the sink
from a meal that would be better seasoned by professional chefs
it is okay that she is 3 and does not know that I am working from home
and crawls into my lap asking to watch the same movie from yesterday
I see her marvel at the simplest sounds,
unphased and unbothered by repetition,
her oblivious grin
the most impactful thing to my restless spirit
it is okay that love has slowed its pace,
that a touch once so fresh is fleeting now
the sweet euphoric beginning of him and I is not lost on us forever
it is okay that their laughs come delayed now through a computer screen
we still greet the same sun, still bid adieu the same moon
it is okay to hang your head low in fear and defeat and worry
but only
if you promise
to lift it now
to see
that it is okay &
that there are words
and there are rhythms
to outnumber the things
that shouldn’t be
there are words
and there are rhythms
to encapsulate the things that are still good
and always will be good
these days.
–
Writer Bio:
Chantelle is a curly-headed native of Los Angeles, with a love for puns, non-fiction, and lightly sweetened kettle corn. After years of working as a professor of Communication, she now works in Event Production at a local seminary, along with writing occasionally for fun and leisure. She is learning, slowly but surely, how to practice the art of seeing others and the world with whimsy and wonder.
Photo by Swapnil Sharma.