I Am Still Waiting for My Heart to Catch Up by Cristina M.R. Norcross (I AM STILL WAITING Series)

I Am Still Waiting for My Heart to Catch Up
by Cristina M.R. Norcross

After celebrating our youngest son’s
15th year on this earth,
I am still waiting for my heart
to catch up with the hurried footsteps
of time.

I am still waiting for my arms to realize
that my sons don’t need me to lift them
into a car seat anymore.
Our oldest can now drive
the car himself.
My prayerful thoughts
can still guide them,
willing them to arrive safely in our driveway.
My steadfast words
of faith in their gifts can uphold them,
like scaffolding offering support
at vital pressure points,
or the red training wheels from bikes
now gathering dust in the garage.

I am still waiting for my invisible shield
to go unnoticed,
but this will never be.
They see the candle of concern in my eyes.
They notice the way my attention hovers,
the laser-like focus of my mother brain,
as I listen to their needs
and remember those they never even thought of.

The time of stepping on Legos and wiping
tomato sauce from chins has ended,
but the tiny hands
that once held my finger in sleep
will know that reaching out
always results in finding me.

Like music from another room that lingers
and dances me into the next chapter,
I am still waiting for my heart
to catch up with time.
So I keep looking down at my watch,
then up at the sky,
where the robin’s egg blue of tomorrow
promises to cradle my sons’ hopes,
even when I can’t be there
to open the door.

PAINTING: Motherhood by Pablo Picasso (1901).

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: The blink of an eye that was 2020 caused time to race like a swift runner. Try not to close your eyes, I thought. You just might think we skipped a year and leapt into the next one. Time passes quickly enough for parents, while watching their children grow up. Our lives become busy, spinning wheels of school, activities, and chores. The pandemic caused time to both stand still and flow rapidly, like a river. Our teenaged sons grew by leaps and bounds this year, while we were looking out the window at the world, with longing. I hope that we can all slow down and take a breath. I am still waiting for my heart to catch up with time’s arrow.

PHOTO: The author’s sons in younger years.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Cristina M. R. Norcross is the author of eight poetry collections, and is the founding editor of Blue Heron Review (2013-2021). Her most recent book is Beauty in the Broken Places (Kelsay Books, 2019). Her forthcoming poetry collection, The Sound of a Collective Pulse, is due to be published by Kelsay Books in Fall 2021. Cristina’s poems have  been published in Visual Verse, Your Daily Poem, Poetry Hall, Right Hand Pointing, Verse-Virtual, The Ekphrastic Review, and Pirene’s Fountain, among others. Her work also appears in numerous print anthologies. She has helped organize community art and poetry projects, has led workshops, and has also hosted many open mic readings. She is the co-founder of Random Acts of Poetry and Art Day.  Visit her at cristinanorcross.com.

How to Give a Hug by Howard Richard Debs (HOW TO Series)

How to Give a Hug
by Howard Richard Debs

It’s been forever
since we did it.
Today my twin
granddaughters
became teenagers.
Last time I saw
them in person,
it was their grandma’s
turn to have a birthday
I won’t tell which one.
Let’s just say she was not
yet a teen herself
when Bill Haley &
His Comets hit number one
with “Rock Around the Clock”
and Twinkies had been
packed in school lunchboxes
for a pretty good while before
she came along.
Her birthday this time around
coincided with a year’s
worth of pandemic,
still keeping us apart,
from family, friends, those
dear to us, the ones we love.
So on that occasion
we only saw the twins briefly
masked and social distanced
on our driveway; one of them
baked a cake which we rationed,
savored for quite a while,
sweet pieces of recollection
of how it used to be.
I read an article about
all this, it states that touch
is the only sense crucial
to humans’ survival.
This day, with our CDC
vaccination cards filed
carefully away, out of practice
for sure, we reached
with arms wide encircling
each child pressing them
close, holding them as if
we would never let them go.

PHOTO ART: Hugs and Kisses Banner by Maya Moody, used by permission.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Some things seem instinctive, natural. Until you can’t do that thing, until it is precluded, taken away. Then you have to in a sense relearn it. I try in my writing to call attention to that which is mostly not fully acknowledged about common and ordinary things we do. That even the elemental act of a hug is built layer upon layer of what comes to make it special. The physical act itself is accompanied in the back of our mind maybe with the remnant of the taste of a birthday cake, a fondly remembered bite of a Twinkie from long ago perhaps, a recollection of dancing with someone in our life to a favorite song many years before. Touching is certainly one thing essential to our being human. Many of us surely more fully recognize how important this and other kinds of human interactions are out of the sad experience of this pandemic; hopefully, we will not soon forget what we have come to better appreciate, what we have learned about what really matters during this unprecedented time.

AUTHOR’S PHOTO CAPTION: Me hugging the twins, now teens; it will always be a special hug for me, on a special day for them.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Howard Richard Debs is a recipient of the 2015 Anna Davidson Rosenberg Poetry Award. His essays, fiction, and poetry appear internationally in numerous publications. His photography is featured in select publications, including in Rattle online as “Ekphrastic Challenge” artist and guest editor. His book Gallery: A Collection of Pictures and Words (Scarlet Leaf Publishing), is the recipient of a 2017 Best Book Award and 2018 Book Excellence Award. His latest work Political (Cyberwit.net) is a nominee for the 2021 Eric Hoffer Awards. He is co-editor of New Voices: Contemporary Writers Confronting the Holocaust, forthcoming in later 2021 from Vallentine Mitchell of London, publisher of the first English language edition of the diary of Anne Frank. He is listed in the Poets & Writers Directory.

How to Tell Time in a Pandemic by Barbara Crary (HOW TO Series)

How to Tell Time in a Pandemic
by Barbara Crary

The day dawns in muted tones of mauve and pale yellow behind the bare branches of the maple tree. We awaken early to the calls of male and female cardinals announcing their presence to one another in the cold winter breeze. Today the dawn arrives earlier than it did yesterday as we move almost imperceptibly toward spring. We wait for our walk until the sun is high in the sky, hoping for warmth and contenting ourselves with the sparkle of sunlight on icy banks of leftover snow. We walk for an hour with no clear destination beyond our return home to an afternoon of coffee and conversation as evening falls. Dinner follows and in the gathering darkness, we drowse contentedly before it is time for bed. The moon, ever changing and ever present, rises to watch over us as we sleep and hope to dream. The day dawns anew.

sunrise to sunrise
no need to number the days
the sky is our clock

PAINTING: Sunrise by Georgia O’Keeffe (1916).

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: In this year of the pandemic, I have found myself increasingly attentive to the rhythms and beauty of the natural world. I’ve begun writing haibun as a way of focusing my attention more clearly, and have found this a great source of pleasure during the lockdown.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Barbara Crary is a retired school psychologist who lives outside Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. She started writing poetry several years ago, and often writes in short forms such as haiku. She enjoys the discipline of creating found poetry using words selected from existing texts. Barbara was a contributing poet to the collection, Whitmanthology: On Loss and Grief and has also written for Silver Birch Press.

Blessed by Patrick T. Reardon (PRIME MOVERS Series)

Blessed
by Patrick T. Reardon

Blessed are the dead and the dying.
Blessed, the mourn-filled good-byes
to loves behind glass, behind walls.

Blessed the neighborhoods of pain,
grief communities, lightning-struck homes,
annunciations of the Angel of Death.

Blessed are the respiratory technicians,
nurses, doctors, lab pathologists.
Blessed, the women and men who clean hospital floors.

Blessed are the unhealthy, the aimless,
lost souls, lone hearts, stunted, scarred,
the poor, rich in afflictions.

Blessed, those ascending stairs, entering vestibules,
with groceries, with medicines,
long days, dangerous.

Blessed are those who protect, those who care.
Blessed, those who drive the buses,
masked and vulnerable.

Blessed are those who stay home to save lives,
who can stay home, selfish in their selflessness,
wanting to live, not wanting others to die.

Blessed, the children who know how to adapt.
Blessed, the babies, innocent of the fear
of the invisible invader.

Blessed, the makers of hard decisions.
Blessed, the disease detectives.
Blessed, the inspirers, the hope-sters, the up-lifters.

Blessed are those who bloom in the whirlwind,
who are brave before mysteries,
who embrace living.

Blessed are the dead and the dying,
the courageous and the hand-holders.
Blessed, us, one and all.

Photo by kazuend on Unsplash

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: “Blessed” was originally published in Third Coast Review in April 2020, when the pandemic was still somewhat new.  The poem was an attempt to encompass a great amount, particularly the inequality of death that has resulted. Alas, the sadness and fear of those early days, and the inequality, are still with us.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Patrick T. Reardon, who has been nominated three times for a Pushcart Prize, is the author of nine books, including the poetry collection Requiem for David  and the history The Loop: The “L” Tracks That Shaped and Saved Chicago. His poetry has appeared in Burningwood Literary Journal, Esthetic Apostle, Ground Fresh Thursday, Literary Orphans, Rhino, Spank the Carp, Main Street Rag, The Write Launch, Meat for Tea, Silver Birch Press, UCity Review, and Under a Warm Green Linden. His memoir in prose poems Puddin: The Autobiography of a Baby is to be published in 2021 by Third World Press.

Back from the Front by Anita Haas (PRIME MOVERS Series)

Back from the Front
by Anita Haas

“They kept coming. Delivery
vans, mail trucks even.”

Every 8 p.m. we emerged, blinking,
from our cozy, book-lined
bunker, to applaud you
from our rooftop.

“It was a trade center turned field hospital.”

And every night we stared
at the coiffed, heeled announcer, pointing
at rising columns on charts
labeled “Infections” and “Deaths.”

“And they lay them on the sidewalks, some
already dead. The families forbidden to say goodbye.”

But the media already told us;
No masks for you, garbage bag
capes. Shortage of
beds, ambulances, ventilators;
patient-lined corridors, ice rink morgue.

“The nearest sink was 800 metres
away. We couldn’t wash them. The smell …”

But TV sucks reality out of things. Tricks
you into believing it’s all just a movie.

“Many colleagues with families didn’t go home
at night, afraid of infecting them.”

But you were real. Telling me,
blinking down at your coffee, voice
wavering. After it was all over.
For now, at least.

“But I did. After my shift, I’d collapse
on the couch, hug my dog, and sob.”

PHOTO: Healthcare workers in Spain dealing with the coronavirus crisis applaud in return as they are cheered outside their hospital on March 26, 2020. Photo by Iago Lopez, used by permission.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Lockdown here in Spain was especially severe during the months of March, April, and May. We were restricted to our homes and only permitted to leave, unaccompanied, for work, food, or medicine, and within a one kilometer radius. At 8 p.m. the streets rang out with applause from balconies. Since we don’t have a balcony, we rediscovered our building’s rooftop, where we could stretch our legs, applaud the healthcare workers, and get some vitamin D.  When we could finally leave and see people, I met up with a nurse friend of mine. Her story inspired this poem.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Anita Haas is a differently abled, award-winning Canadian writer and teacher based in Madrid, Spain. She has published books on film, two novelettes, a short story collection, and articles, poems, and fiction in both English and Spanish. Her poetry has been featured in Quantum Leap, River Poets Journal, Poetry Quarterly, Vox Poetica, Verse Virtual, Wink, Songs of Eretz, Parody Magazine, Silver Birch Press, and Founder’s Favourites. She spends her free time watching films and enjoying tapas and flamenco with her writer husband and two cats.

PHOTO: The author on her rooftop during lockdown.

Lullaby at Dawn by Jo Taylor (PRIME MOVERS Series)

Lullaby at Dawn
by Jo Taylor

I remember it was your college years.
A weekend at home, and you were sleeping
in. An act of mutiny for your grandmother
who had raised nine children during
the Great Depression and the war years
and who had never slept past sunup
in the nine decades of her life. She simply
could not contain herself. Now that one
don’t do nothin’.

Today in this global pandemic, I see
you working the night shift,
your big brown eyes behind shield
and N-95, and I swell with pride. I hear
your stories from the ICU, about another
granddaughter facetiming you to help
her say goodbye to her beloved matriarch,
your sobs and chest heaves clouding
the plexiglass masque like steam rising
from a body of water after a summer rain;
about a coworker holding her sibling’s hand
every day, exhorting him to return to life;
about the young nursing student with whom
you feel a special affinity, rallying when iron
lung and human spirit and the Divine mesh
for a miracle.

And for the record, my daughter, as Aurora
signals the end of yet one more long night,
I suggest there are other kin beaming
and bragging and swelling with pride.
If you close your eyes and lean in quietly,
you might hear the aged one humming
“Brahms’ Lullaby” from across the Milky Way.
I bet she is whispering, Sweet dreams.

PHOTO: The author’s daughter, Cortney Wade, at the hospital where she works.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: “Lullaby at Dawn” was written to recognize my daughter’s contribution to alleviating suffering during the coronavirus pandemic. She is a perfusionist, who, in normal times, is part of a heart surgery team, but who in these days also works with COVID patients who rely on the ECMO (a machine that circulates blood through an iron lung, allowing the body to rest). Her stories are both heartwarming and heart-wrenching.  Needless to say, her work makes a mother proud.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jo Taylor is a retired, 35-year English teacher from Georgia. Her favorite genre to teach high school students was poetry, and today she dedicates more time to writing it. She writes to bear witness, to give testimony to the past and to her heritage. She has been published in The Ekphrastic Review, Silver Birch Press, Poets Online, Literary North, Heart of Flesh Literary Journal, and One Art.

A Family of Doctors Treating Covid by Margaret Duda (PRIME MOVERS Series)

A Family of Doctors Treating Covid
by Margaret Duda

My son, my daughter, and my son-in-law don PPEs,
Examine patients, offer assurances, ignore risks to treat,
Then come home to undress, wash clothes, and shower,
Before feeding families also dependent on their care.
Already exhausted, they assist children in virtual classes,
Call others in college, offer spousal support to those they love.
On family zooms, I see lines under their eyes and furrowed brows,
As they join games of Boggle and wish they were in bed asleep.
The days turn into weeks which turn into months of detailed
Tele-med calls to patients at high risk, long shifts at hospitals.
I wait and hear about millions infected, thousands dying, and worry,
Worry about my children working through a pandemic to save lives.

IMAGE: Minerva, Roman goddess of medicine. Detail from painting Pallas and the Centaur by Sandro Botticelli (1482). 

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Mother to four and grandmother to seven, I worry about everyone in my large family, but that is what mothers do.  I have not been able to hug them since Christmas because of my age and risk factors, but am trying to stay well for myself and for them. I know the doctors did not dream of being in this position someday, and they work with doctors who have gotten ill themselves. I cannot imagine the courage it takes for them just to go to work. Most patients do not realize they have other lives, where their families depend on them as well. I pray for an end to the pandemic so that I can breathe again.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: A professional author, photographer, and jewelry designer, Margaret Duda has had her work published in The Kansas Quarterly, The Michigan Quarterly Review, Crosscurrents, The South Carolina Review, The Green River Review, Fine Arts Discovery, The Green River Review, and Venture.  One of her short stories made the distinctive list of Best American Short Stories. She also had a play produced in Michigan, has had several books of nonfiction published, and took travel photos for the New York Times for 10 years. She lives in Pennsylvania and is now working on the final draft of an immigrant family saga novel set in a steel mill town, and is writing poetry to find a shred of sanity during this pandemic.

Happy Birthday by Julie A. Dickson (PRIME MOVERS Series)

Graphic by Yekaterina Nalimanova, used by permission.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: My Aunt, who resides in an upstate New York state nursing facility, is the topic of this true poem. She is grateful to the dedicated medical staff, both caregivers and companions. Her family is most grateful that she is safe and hope to be able to resume in-person visits soon.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Julie A. Dickson is a New Hampshire poet whose work addresses nature, current events, animal welfare, elephants in captivity. Her poetry has appeared in various journals, including Ekphrastic Review, Poetry Quarterly, Blue Heron Review, The Avocet and The Harvard Press. She is a member of the Poetry Society of New Hampshire, and has coordinated workshops as well as 100 Thousand Poets for Change. Her full-length works of poetry and Young Adult fiction can be found on Amazon.

The Bubble Gum Effect by Vandita Dharni (PRIME MOVERS Series)

The Bubble Gum Effect
by Vandita Dharni

Relentless efforts of the caregiver have spawned atoms of resilience and kept dad sprightly and positive despite battling with the immobilizing Parkinson’s disease. This short-statured, unassuming lad regales his patient by administering tidal waves of laughter to combat the avalanches of depression that would have otherwise surfaced.

Raj can heave up a patient almost five inches taller than him like a professional WWF wrestler. He is a true companion, taking dad for regular walks within the periphery of our home and keeping him well-groomed with a meticulous sense of hygiene. He keeps a track of his doctor’s appointments, medication schedules, and physiotherapy despite Dad’s restricted movement due to his age, the Parkinson’s disease, and now the fear of contracting the ghost virus that stalks us.

Since the onslaught of Covid-19 in April, Raj has voluntarily taken up lodgings at our home as commuting everyday would put the family at risk, especially our 80-year-old dad who has low immunity and a B-12 deficiency, the result of his strict vegetarianism. Our Man Friday ensures that the diet contains adequate nutrients to prevent osteoporosis and further complications. Fruits, salads, and cheese have fostered Dad’s immunity and kept the doctor away and depression at bay so far. Raj’s comforting presence soothes Dad’s irritability that often stems from dementia and childish stubbornness, particularly his insistence on wanting to venture out despite the hazards of the deadly virus.

I often find them laughing at ludicrous jokes on the phone or when our handy man is tickling a funny bone that erupts in guffaws. Seeing Dad happy, evokes a sense of relief that in these challenging times, we still have love and laughter sticking to us like bubble gum.

PHOTO: Selfie snapped by Raj.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Covid-19 has crippled the lifestyle of people across the globe, including the city of Chandigarh, India. However, we are blessed to have a wonderful and compassionate caregiver for our dad. Our dad is an 80-year-old army veteran grappling with Parkinson’s disease. Raj has been a constant companion who keeps motivating dad to be positive, and so far we have been able to ward off the threat of the virus. Raj has worked as a Patient Care Assistant at the Postgraduate Institute of Medical Education and Research (PGIMER), a medical and research institution in Chandigarh, a leading tertiary care hospital of the region that caters to patients from all over Punjab, Himachal Pradesh, and Haryana.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Vandita Dharni is an acclaimed poet, scholar and, a gold medalist from the University of Allahabad, India. She has a Ph.D.  degree in American Literature from the same university. Her articles, poems, and stories have been published in many journals, including Criterion, Ruminations, GNOSIS, HellBound Publishing House, as well as International magazines such as Immagine, Poessia, Synchronised Chaos, Poleart Albani, Sipay, Fasihi, Guido Gozzano. Her books include The Oyster of Love,  Rippling Overtures, and Quintessential Outpourings, and she is the proud recipient of the Poetic Galaxy Award 2018, the World Poetic Star Award 2019, and the Rabindranath Tagore Award 2020. Her work recently appeared in Our Poetry Archive.

Ambulant in Twilight by Roger Patulny (PRIME MOVERS Series)

Ambulant in Twilight
by Roger Patulny

Everything is blue-black
she starts late from a nap
scattering bank statements;
Jack jumps across the covers till she
smacks him with a pillow toward his basket for his dirty PJ top
and mask of royal blue
while his father beeps his Tucson in the driveway.

The sky is a magenta smear
she runs the steel-blue bus down, now
hollow as a broken shoe, and
gasping, texts a joke to Jack about
a bus all stuffed with painted toes as she
sits among the statues, distant masks of colour
stiff against the racing cobalt of the clouds;
ambulant in twilight.

She ties her hair beside the sliding door
between a raft of tests;
temperature, symptoms, hot spot lists,
she drinks her herbs and
sticks her COVID coloured dot spot
to the cornflower of her dress
and gasps and laughs
to the flicker of fluorescent
tearoom lights
about the empty pallets
bare of masks and sanitiser,
and worries with her colleagues if
there will be enough for after?

She does the dance of donning
body bound in sterile gown and plastic covers for her shoes
a wimple of a balaclava, goggles, mask
and face shield last but for the
double gloves
and walks the sober, foggy path along the designated blue line.

Freshly unwrapped forceps
lie sweatless on the tray
of basic instruments tonight
she passes a retractor,
worries Jack is not in bed
and dreams of holidays, colour books and cigarettes
till the diathermy smoke
from the cauterised flesh
produces aerosol and risk
and she sighs and dons again.

Disposing of the Rampleys stained with
umber antiseptic
his dad calls with the bad news;
he can’t do next week after all, away
and so she pleads again to change her shifts then

puts the needle holders down,
exits to her favourite band
to get a can of cocktail from the café, then
texts Jack to say good morning and
don’t be late for school and
shuts her eyes to feel the sun.

PHOTO: Georgia Brown at work in a hospital in Australia. 

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: The creative approach behind this poem started with a focus on the lived experience of my friend Georgia, and the challenges she goes through balancing a highly complex job as a surgical nurse with caring for her young son as a single parent. The poem evolved as she revealed complexities about the fascinating work she does — from dress procedures to use of instruments — and the complications COVID has brought to this world and to her life and well-being.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Roger Patulny is based in Sydney, Australia. He is an academic, writer, and poet, with fiction published in the The Suburban Review and poems in Cordite, Poets Corner InDaily, the UK arts magazine Dwell Time, The Rye Whisky Review, Indolent Books, and the Mark Literary Review; excerpts and links to Roger’s recent published creative works can be found here.