Poem: Fog

We’ve had some particularly sunny days lately. Sure, we’ve had our fair share of rain—a thunderstorm even hit. We got tornado warnings, and the river flooded. But overall, the weather has been nice. Still, I was inspired to write this poem by two things: one foggy afternoon where I found myself transplanting my pansies as soon as I could and all the craziness in the world right now.

I don’t think I mentioned it here, but the COVID-19 has shut down my workplace for at least a month. I’m fortunate enough to be financially stable and have family at home, but I have plenty of friends who are struggling financially or socially. I think we’re all struggling mentally. I’m going stir crazy. I read. I write. I try to get out of the house and work in the garden, but some days, it just isn’t enough.

The world is an uncertain place these days, even more so than usual. So, as writers do, I wrote about it.

Fog

It’s hard to think

that yesterday

I stepped out in a world

bathed in sunshine

and today

the white expanse

bares all my work

like words sketched

in a thought bubble.

remember how I

uncovered the dead wood

and exposed the black salamander,

how the rain washed

away the topsoil

I carefully laid

to prevent floods

that came anyway.

I hang the ferns

and walk from the porch

to the mailbox,

unable to see one

from the other,

my hand near translucent

in front of my face,

yet I take another step

and wonder

what I’ll find

around the hundred trees.

I stare into the white abyss

and listen

for the birdsong

but none comes.

maybe tomorrow—

but not today.

***

Let’s chat! What did you think of the poem? What are some activities you do to cope with being cooped up at home?

Similar poems: Waking Up, Lost as a Leaf, and Silent Words