A Crack in the Darkness
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Betty Naegele Gundred
The sun did not rise today,
like our country, our world,
it is dark outside,
stormy.
I shuffle through my house,
looking for purpose,
turn on the Keurig
and open my laptop
to headlines warning
disease . . . death . . . quarantines.
I close the lid.
The gloom within rumbles
threatening to unloose me.
What armor will I wear today –
a Zumba dance on You Tube,
an attempt at baking ciabatta,
crossword puzzles, jigsaw puzzles?
We think ourselves genius,
but the microworld
has outsmarted us –
a piece of RNA holds us hostage
in our homes.
Yet just outside the door,
the world we can see thrives –
a doe tiptoes across a distant field,
dotted with daffodils,
and dark-eyed juncos alight
at my feeder –
I need to be grateful . . .
Another glimpse out the window
makes me smile.
A persistent sun has found
a crack in the darkness.
