By Linda Rodgers Pranitis
There is no seed
where the feeder was.
Nothing on the ground.
Red geranium, purple mum,
Once upon your sill.
Pictures that are missing.
Tape that held them there.
Looking in the window,
Another world.
You sitting in your chair.
There is no seed
Where the feeder was.
The birds
They all have gone.
Another women in your bed.
Broken hearts.
Memories set in stone.
COVID ghosts
Forever gone.
Above is COVID Ghost, a poem written two days after my mother, age 97, passed away from dementia and complications of COVID 19. The poem speaks of the remnants left outside her nursing home window, cared for during daily visits to her. She sadly was placed there one month before pandemic hit and spent the rest of her last 10 months in Quarantine. This poem was written from the core of my heart as I tried to grapple with what happened to her and many like her.