How will it feel months from now

when the pink sliver of sky swims in  
through the window and you hear  
the high notes from the opera singer 
one story below. Angel of wishing,  
 
angel of fortune, the cart overturned, 
the small animals from the back  
of the truck flooding the highway.  
The keys keep making the piano be.  
 
I have only ever wanted the red sky  
to turn blue. It’s so beautiful 
when it sinks in. Hold me, closeness  
says. As long as I have sight, I’ll see.  
 
The walls of time dissolve whenever  
the lights are turned off. The lights  
that made the day so easy to be with.  
I fold myself away. No mirage  
 
of sirens hammering the glass front  
of the hospital down the block.  
Stars guide the eye across the sky.  
It will be like that. Again, and again.  

Credit

Copyright © 2020 by Mary Jo Bang. Originally published with the Shelter in Poems initiative on poets.org.

About this Poem

"The sameness of quarantine can feel at times like a state of suspended animation, a perpetual NOW. With so little by which to measure time, I found myself noticing those things that did change, like the sky in the window at the end of a day. Seeing the color shift reminded me of other changes—some that had just happened (a siren had sliced through the silence), and some that had happened before now (a different silence, a different siren)—and that made me wonder what this NOW would feel like in the future."
Mary Jo Bang