If you look out the window, you may see the sun
By Elizabeth Haller-Walsh
Trees, bushes and plants may be sprouting out, one by one
The gift of rain nourishes the earth, alerting buds to nature’s call
Showering sprinkles of water, create patterns as each fall
Blossoming bushes, and flowers of various shapes, colors, and styles
Timing dictates their debut, as spring and summer last only a short while
As the weather changes, leaves and petals dance, descending to the ground
Waiting for the seasons change, until it’s time for another go around
Elizabeth Haller-Walsh is the author of “Haggadah of the Heart.”
SMALL LOSSES AND SMALL GAINS
Stressful Covid days
Move so slowly
Yet suddenly it’s six PM
And nothing accomplished.
How queer is that
Why bother going out
And playing chess
With too many maskless pieces
Moving on the sidewalks.
But guilt for not taking
Care of my body
Sent me into the streets
To get my heart pumping.
Living near the East River
Only ventured eastward
Seeking the safety of
Less congested streets.
Decided this day
To risk adventure
And travel westward to
To see what might be happening.
Second and Third had changed.
Large rectangles of curbside roadways
Are cordoned off with
Fences or ropes
Some, with canvas canopies
Or huge umbrellas
To shade the sun
Tables and chairs.
Now one may eat
Next to whizzing cars.
I sized up a few places
Where it might feel safe
To sit and have lunch.
None passed muster.
Turned back by
Wondering about what
My kitchen held for lunch.
Then, right there,
Luke’s Lobster appeared
And the roadway seating
Had lots of safe space.
Light bulb went on
Sat at a table
Took out my phone,
Ordered a lobster roll.
Five minutes later
It started to drizzle
No large umbrella or canopy.
Five minutes after that
It began to pour,
My bagged order arrived,
No shelter in sight.
Requested a large trash bag,
Made a face hole
And dryly walked home
With my dry lobster roll.
Zenaide, a textile artist and writer, lives on the East Side.
TWO POEMS FOR THE PANDEMIC
By Jane Seskin
WHEN THE SKY IS FALLING
I must first take
a breath, then visualize someone
who loves me, inhaling hope yet
knowing there are things I won’t
be able to control.
I can still eat books, music and art
and have conversations with my
community, where I tell them I
am grateful for their presence in
my life and then lift up my arms
to sing and dance and laugh, to
make the noises that affirm my
stable presence in this world that
has become so perilous.
I see silence now as a welcome
friend as I look for and notate a
daily moment of joy, yet continue
to push back and thru emotional
discomfort, knowing I will not die
from allowing the feelings of anger,
sadness and loss to wash over my
I will welcome the dreams where I
step on a rainbow, extend my hand,
open my heart and give away flowers
and kindness - for I know that even
though the sky is falling, my body
with this gift of being alive.
over the years
is now with you
at this difficult
You walk with
all, the memories
you are safe.
Jane Seskin, LCSW is a psychotherapist and author of poetry and personal essays in national magazines and journals. Her most recent book is “Older, Wiser, Shorter: An Emotional Road Trip to Membership in the Senior Class.”
May 27th - 100,000 +
By Ada Strausberg
Today we reached that dreaded mark
The number so awful and stark
Across this land, no state is spared
A person lived and someone cared
No, not just a number or name
Each an extinguished life and flame:
Someone’s child, sister, mother
Father, daughter, son and brother
Grandparent, uncle or an aunt
Cousin, friend, lover, Makes me rant
There’s someone’s husband, someone’s wife,
Those who gave to save another’s life.
Remember them by doing good
Even just doing what you should.
Know how deadly is this disease
They’d ask of you, so won’t you please.
ONLY FOUR WEEKS LATER 125,000 +
It’s just four weeks
And we reached another peak
The death rates up a quarter
Caused by this mortal mortar.
Almost 10 million ‘cross the globe
Imagine if each time a strobe
We’d all be truly blinded
Can’t we all be civic minded?
How much longer can people deny it?
How much longer some folks defy it?
Endangering others by “I don’t care”
Can’t you see it’s everywhere?
The window is closing we are told
Now’s not the time to be falsely bold
Ada Mark Strausberg, born and bred in NYC, lives on the Upper West Side.