That Saturday afternoon
as spring began again
and daffodil has poked
its head up
Waiting to dance
In the back yard
The news hit her hard
She had to find her words
‘darling I won’t see you for a while’ she laid down
tears raced down
and laid on the bed sheet
where the room was
and where you were
room number 108
Like an inmate
whose dark thoughts
at the end
were eaten up with love
her shaky gaits
slipped through the hallway
and exited the door
that will stop her
to return
she peeled
the purple gloves
from her hands
she pulled her N-95 mask
From her nose and mouth
Took off the black curtain
from her eyes
‘the weeks crawl by
until we could be together’
‘darling I won’t see you for a while’
No Visiting
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MORE POETRY
Critica is an inclusive and transdisciplinary publishing platform that focuses on offering a reflective and aesthetic space to consider social and cultural issues through a psychoanalytic and creative lens. It is also a forum for ideas at the intersection of psychoanalysis, creativity, philosophy, and the social sciences.
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