A Nobody

A Nobody

(thank you Emily Dickinson)

as she lives through plague-days

quarantined from a dangerous world

her chapped hands flutter her bare feet dance

she sorts her t-shirts folds her white sheets

chops onions celery peels knobby carrots

shreds poached chicken breasts for soup

visits her garden tastes damp spring earth

whispers her guilty pleasure in the hellebore’s ear

removed at long long last from the otherly world

where a deadly virus rampages across oceans mountains

she is sequestered at home sterile careful

news of illness death reaches her in raspy whispers

her former life is shuttered locked down stilled

even god has disappeared

she invents her own rhythm cadence desires

composes 1800 poems sews them into rose-scented packets

stows them in a bedroom drawer

she is a blessed nobody too

forever grateful

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