I read a book in my room by my self, it happened at quiet time and there was nobody there.
I did a medatation with my cat.
I road my scooter to the park, with my dad, and my brothers and it happened really late.
I watched harry potter puppet palls, with my family, in the basement.
Diana, 6, is writing a letter to her great aunt.
“Dear Ant,” wait how do you spell aunt?
“Do you have–”
She stops herself and then begins again,
“I hope your safe and healthy at home!!”
“Is there anything that is closed??
I love the books you gave me!!
I really really really love the kitten book!
Here in D.C. we can still go to the park
and ride around with our scooter and bikes.
But we can’t play with the playground aquipmint!
Love, Diana”
Mayors in Italy, where life is on lockdown, are getting mad at people
for jogging, playing ping-pong, walking dogs.
The governor of Campania says in a press conference
at a wooden desk, gold-fringed flags behind him:
“I’m getting word that people are planning graduation parties.
We’re going to send over the carabinieri
with flamethrowers.”
“No more than 5 people
in the waiting room at a time,”
a sign taped to the door of the veterinary clinic says.
I walk in with three children.
We are bringing in our cat Frankie for surgery.
The kids argued over who would carry him to the car,
who would put him on their lap.
Frankie looks terrified but doesn’t make a sound
until I stop at a red light
and our eyes meet through the black mesh
“He just meowed four times!” Luke says.
In the waiting room there is a woman
carrying a Persian cat
and wearing blue surgical gloves.
On the counter are two cups of pens for signing forms:
one labeled ‘dirty’, one labeled ‘clean.’
When they tell us it’s time to leave Frankie,
I pick up the carrier, he mews,
and we all say, “10 meows.”
The lady with the Persian cat smiles.
We smile back,
and as we walk toward the door,
keeping our distance.
I feel like I have committed a crime
I tried to organize a playdate for my kids
The school system said this week is our new spring break
No road trip to Ohio in April to their grandparents’ farm
I wonder if my name will be put on some kind of blacklist
by the parents who didn’t respond for days to the email that said,
“Playdate?”
My son’s best friend’s family said yes
to one there Tuesday
one here Thursday
I am a sociopath
For merging two families’ germ pools, contact histories
Neighbors walk by and examine this child playing nerf guns with mine
who yell his name so loud in our backyard
everyone must know by now
what I have done
And I feel a guilt so cutting that I have to go to bed early
with a headache and a cool feeling in my nose
This is the beginning of coronavirus,
I’m convinced
Serves you right,
they will say
Sofia, 18, is knitting an Irish Moss stitch blanket
with warm cream skeins of chunky yarn
and doing virtual tours of colleges
Virginia, 16, is sketching portraits of
beautiful women, singers, and icons
on cut squares of watercolor paper
to decorate her room
Mark, 11, says, “I think we need to take a break
from video games,” even though it’s the thing
he most looks forward to
Luke, 9, racks up points for burping, farting,
being mean to his little sister, and saying potty words,
and then enjoys the jobs he gets as a consequence
Diana, 6, loses her first tooth
and gets her first computer account
in the same week
Painting with Words 