My love, you died before this plague,
before this confinement.
You would have hated it.
You were never one to be confined.
I can see you,
you would have worn a mask
because you were not a fool.
You would have worn one of your floppy hats,
because that was who you were.
Perhaps, a bandana around your neck as well.
But you would have been out walking.
You would have been checking on your friends,
perhaps bringing them groceries,
perhaps just cheering them up,
letting them know there was at least one person who cared.
Your daughter has a touch of your spirit,
which would have surprised us both when she was younger.
She has been sewing masks and delivering them
to hospitals, to workers still working.
She has delivered groceries to shut-ins,
including even that leftover, your husband.
I think it would please you to know that.
Perry L. Powell is a poet and author who is finding it all too easy to stay at home alone with his ghosts and his memories.