Bubble life

My sister has this bubble
where everything is nice.
I’m going to my sister’s bubble
and live a bubble life.

It is a common thing
to read obituaries.
My father read their names
when we were kids –
inserting the living
among the dead but
we said no, no!
They are not dead!
So I am my father’s daughter
and read the obituaries
since the enemy unseen
by naked eye brings a grief
that cannot be mourned
by families in quarantine.
The dying begins at birth.
Life as a seed leads into
dying immediately.

My sister created this bubble
where music sweet music rings.
Gonna find my way to her bubble and
listen to every living thing.

Captain Jonathan Parnell you
left this world too soon
and Lisa Eward a hero nurse
at Henry Ford Hospital,
doing your jobs so we are safe
my heart is weeping
for your families and Sandy who lost
both her Freddies without
hugs to help her mourn-
my tears are never-ending
each life a loss,
stories ending too soon.

Here’s to life in a bubble
where every year begets
a snowy owl irruption
and buntings right and left.

And now I must live amongst
my fellow citizens who mask-less
and carrying children
are bringing herd immunity –
let the virus spread let it spread!
The making of money is sacred,
the calf an idol of gold,
spouting the gospel of freedom
which leads to the deaths of heroes.
“Don’t tread on my freedom don’t tread.”
What should I do with this grief?
The virtual hugging is all I have
since the capacity for harshness
Is ever with us. The dying
begins at birth no
escape from death no escape.
And cruelty lives among us –
your freedom is the price we all pay
as we head to our graves
to our graves.