String

mosquitos swarm over the rock crevices and pine

and maple woods,  we walk, I swat away

tears of despair  as I run through possibilities

again,    how do I live this life of privileged

anguish,   I stumble on the roots catching

myself in the midst of a fall, in the midst of another

bite into maybe,  what is this life of no touch,

of no hugs outside the household,  I swing my

walking sticks in the air, dissipating  the

latest attack,  watching my footing as I  move

forward to read another story online to a child afraid

to play  with his cousin,  he has learned distance

protects,  he  likes that we are

connected by an invisible string and that I

notice he is growing into a big kid,  my teeth,

bring laughter to his eyes across the screen,  I

repress another flood of tears,  I know I cannot

go to him, not now,  giggling  together about my baby nose

stretching the invisible sting of connection

from my heart to his

and back again.

gloria fern june 2020