Staring out the window,

I watch my husband trundle our cart down the walk.

He's off to the grocery shop

With a clear list and loving care,

Wholly capable, looking fine,

Mentally ready for Covid restrictions.

All I want to do is kick concrete,

Bang walls and smash glass!

That would sure startle the neighbours

On this quiet spring morning.

 

There is now a period of total privacy

For more than an hour.

And I 'give in'.

I fling myself over the bed,

Bury my head in the pillow

And cry, noisily and snuffly,

Which isn't so comfortable.

I'm NOT wiping my nose on the sheet!

Where's my packet of tissues?

And I can't find it.

 

Suddenly, there is purpose in the moment,

My need so great that I giggle.

What a pain! What an IDIOT!

And the chuckle goes through me

Like vital medicine

Invigorating body and mind.

 

I roll over and get up, smiling,

Ready to dress and have breakfast,

To greet him with hot coffee when he returns.

A second chance for a new day

That no one knows but me.

Maybe the secret life

Of any unremitting illness.

Cynthia Buell Thomas, June 2020