Incelibate Separation During COVID-19

Written in the early days of the COVID19 outbreak. Fortunately, not biographical for our family.

————

She coughed, but I moved closer

’cause I didn’t fear the spread

of the warmness of her welcome

’neath the sheets upon the bed.

I’d stayed inside where I could hide—

a fortnight of unease—

but she’d gone out a few times

just to buy necessities.

First we scrubbed and washed our hands

and then we brushed our teeth;

used disinfectants on our nails

in case bugs hid beneath,

and then, when through (a time or two)

we scrubbed each other’s backs

and netherlands and washed our hands

in case bugs hid in cracks.

She coughed again, but then I stood

behind a filtered mask

while watching through a window

as a team was put to task

to monitor each labored breath—

equipment everywhere—

but no one else could enter

just to let her know we’re there.

I’m pretty certain that was her;

her name was on the door.

I hadn’t seen her face

since we arrived an hour before.

Then suddenly I had to leave,

though tempted to implore

they let me stay, but they said they

need every inch of floor.

Today they called and told me

that the worst for her had passed,

that they’d removed the tubes

and I could bring her home at last.

I snatched our special bottle

off the shelf so I might quaff

a quick shot’s celebration—

and to settle a slight cough.

By Ken Gosse

From: United States

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