Every two weeks I collected my welfare
and went about my small life, unashamed.
The travel agency went on without me, I supposed —
the odd ticket, inbound, coming home.
I went home too,
facing unprecedented times.
The spring thaw felt warmer to me.
Mondays had no shape.
I delighted to go for a drive without sliding,
no hard destination in mind,
at any time of day.
The person I love made room for me,
around the apartment more,
let loose from forty hour weeks.
We made time for books,
for more coffee,
for quiet meandering about our days.
We caught each others’ eyes more,
learned to rest our heads on long silences,
celebrate simple survival every night with wine.
Our consciousness become something else –
living, a real occurrence.
I began to notice what life could be —
and felt like a child, awake in a sun flooded bed
after a bad dream.
before wellness and normalcy
overtook the news again
in spite of the pre-existing conditions
that go on and on and on.
Sickness and wellness turned into numbers
like everything else, and
I, too, found a 9 to 5 job again
in the fall.
After my first eight hours in more than a year,
riding home on the capital line,
grey sliding past the windows,
I notice my insides held taut,
my head vacant, thoughts thin.
We can all go travelling again.
moldy.ca 