as our ancestors
painted their doorposts
with lamb’s blood
stayed inside and held
their children close
we wash our hands
wipe down our shopping carts
and keep our kids
off the playground
for the first time in their lives
in this plague spring
when the leaders fail us
we try to keep each other
alive we are midwives
of solitude and survival
when a baby is born
a mother touches the membrane
between life and death
and is forever changed
as we are changed
by this shadow
which approaches
closer every day
what is there to do
but lift up what we love
chanting pass over us,
angel of death, pass over
us all, turn back into the myth
you used to be before
you became the news
From the series, “Bathtub Pandemic Poems“
