Day 3: Lines – a COVID-19 poem

My family braved grocery shopping today! Everything was fine until it was time to go to Costco…

 

Lines

Lauren Hallstrom

 

The lines at Costco are twisting

and pressing like a living creature

too big for the box it came in.

There is a line to enter the line

to tour the whole store, aisle-by-aisle

and wait to check out

to join the line to leave.

We are visiting a new kind of Disney World,

except the attractions are sticky conveyor belts

and sales on electronics.

Cinderella’s castle is a newly replenished

tower of paper towels.

When one person moves, we all move with them.

We are a school of fish; our motions

tug on each other.

We are connected in our need of tortilla chips

and baby wipes.

I can feel the invisible lines that connect us

even now, this far away.

Every so often people are tugging on them

and waiting for a tug back

to say,

We are still here, we are still here.

Camp NaNo Day 2: Ode to Hand Sanitizer

Hey, when you’re cooped up at home, you have time to set up a scene with Barbies to illustrate the point of a poem! And now,  the product of StayHomeRhymeMo Day 2:

 

Ode to Hand Sanitizer

by Lauren Hallstrom

 

I have long regarded you, oh

isopropyl alcohol,

infused with lemon and added aloe

and a super power that works 99.9 percent of the time,

I have long considered you

a dear friend—no, a pen pal.

I want to write to see how you are doing:

are you still caressing every hand held out to you,

are you kissing chapped skin

that has yet to see the sun?

Your presence always fills the room

but I can no longer find you.

For me, lemons will forever mean clean.

 

I know you are out there

spreading yourself thin,

competing against suds and

feeling second-best.

I know what it is to be empty-handed.

Just this once, let me be the one

who can change what cannot be seen.

Let us be like you, let us all

perform our own magic.

 

Day 1: Our House – a COVID-19 poem

A slow start for me on Day 1 of Camp NaNoWriMo – 529 words so far. But hey, I’m a night owl, so no problem. I ended up more than making up for it by writing a poem that became way longer than intended! Anyone else starting a new project?

 

Our House

by Lauren Hallstrom

 

Everyone I know (and many more I don’t)

live in a house that is painted in a thousand shades of green and blue

and made of clouds, free speech, and walls we never should have put up

before we had to.

 

In the foyer there is a fountain that runs clear all day—

the fish have come back and made their homes there,

the smog has dissipated and the floors are no longer tracked with mud.

We come here one at a time to breathe.

 

Over to this room now,

where people are hurting

and coughing and wishing and trying.

Where something has gotten in that doesn’t belong

and it’s a monster under the bed

that everyone just kind of hopes stays put.

 

The nurses are in the guest rooms

and setting their alarm clocks

and scheduling the next time to

Skype their kids.

 

Venture out to the kitchen,

if you need to,

where people show up every day to help you get food,

and their hands are always moving.

No shelf will forever remain empty.

 

And this room here is full of cubicles.

People even sleep capsuled now.

This man is ordering food for his neighbor.

This mom is teaching algebra.

This girl is writing a song that will change the world.

 

This work-from-home employee saw a paper

airplane fly over his cubicle wall and

fall at his feet and unfold itself and

say in inky letters

It will be okay.

 

These people are breathing and stretching and breathing.

 

The dreamers are out on the front porch,

surrounded by different oceans in every direction.

In the distance, there are other houses too,

with lights that look brighter when it’s dark,

like the stars.

I can sit here all night at the shore of my world

and watch the light from every room

grow together.