As I look through some of my old poems, I am struck by how some of the things we used to take for granted are now denied to us because of this current pandemic.
We used to be able to comfort the dying.
OLD HANDS 2-15-12
She sits upon the edge of his bed.
Now his realm.
His hand reaches out to take hers.
Thin-skinned and bony hands.
Reaching out...and Receiving.
As they have done through seventy years
of time together.