Hello, COVID, you fucker.

​You showed up and ruined everything
You destroyed everything that I thought was true:
you destroyed my friendships and my community,
the lives of my kids and the place that I called home.

We’ve never even met (thankfully)
and I still fucking hate you.
I hate you for showing me how fragile it all is.
How it all really is a goddamn illusion.

Oh, I’ve read about it, for sure--
it sounded dramatic and elusive on the page.
And when those monks visited the high school
and worked for days

on that intricate mandala
and then brushed it all away,
I got the message!
I thought I understood.

I thought I could wrap my head around it.
Sure, OK. Impermanence, I get it.
I’ve watched people die—my dad, my mom,
even my baby girl.

I know better than most, don’t I?
I’ve written about this shit,
I’m supposed to know.

But I don’t. And it’s scaring the hell out of me.

You're stealing my life from me
day by day, bit by bit.
Your fucking with my kids--
in deeper ways than I can even comprehend right now.

I can feel you doing it
and I’m helpless to make you stop.
Your dumping my mandala in the trash
and all I can think to do is yell fuck you.
Fuck you, COVID!

And all you do is look at me,
and smile
and dump.


-----------------
I wrote this last night before bed.
This morning I got up and walked the dog and drank my tea. I sat in the overstuffed chair and closed my eyes and listened to Deuter’s “White Light”
I was surprised by the peace I felt.
Huh, peace and despair can coexist.
​Peace still there, nestled deep.
You can’t take that from me COVID, you fucker.