Written by Ken Pobo for the collection: 'Life in the time of #COVID'.
When I exhale in my mask
my glasses fog up. Today is humid.
I can barely see where I’m going.
That’s nothing new. My path
is always hazy. I have dahlias to pot up.
They need a head start so we can
enjoy them before fall. It’s not raining
but it feels like rain wants to visit.
I think of sturdy stalks,
Buds breaking open. Where will we be
in August? I may need the dahlias
to provide beauty, names
of the dead almost visible,
so many names. I put the pot
with two scaur swinton dahlias
near the shed, ask them
to do me a favor: grow,
be vital, bloom your pink heads off.
Bring a cloud down
and ask it to sing on the roof.