a parable in a virus
here by wing of bat
aerosol
touch

it's said that our clouded eyes
no longer see the North Star
we, but lumbering beasts,
need hibernation

enter thorny Corona
fleetly winging past borders
without passport
invisible
a mutant migrant
invading corpuscles, RNA

under capture of viral Corona
we hibernate
motors now still, silent …
a lone coyote roams empty San Francisco streets
while we with homes
stay in them

I dust off shelves
open lonely books
go for coffee
in my kitchen
wonder about the still caged children
who don't speak English
their weeping parents
those with no soap, no water
no sanitization
little sanity

this time of Corona
of hibernation
a seventh day
a sabbath that lingers
like liver
foul tasting
but its iron
strengthens

thrown off the wheel
of rushrushrush
we are flattened
by Corona's fleeted hit
don't know when we will crawl
from our burrows
or if …

we will see the North Star
remembering
we are not one and only
but many and connected
needing to see something
we seem to have lost

~ Susan Dlugach