Nov 8

Nov 8 poem: louise zimmerman

pandemic

meeting in small groups

outdoors

masked waiters

serve socially distanced drinks and appetizers

which somehow feels special

with heat lamps to keep us warm

we bring blankets

quietly exchanging ideas for survival

meeting - hugless - touchless

carefully accounting

underneath the scent of hand sanitizer

or propane

lingering in the air

we sit apart in the brisk wind

enjoying a sliver of closeness

- and still I miss the salt.

mom, engineer, poet, musician