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.