Strange Days

In the strange days of March
when a virus invaded our lives,
I kept thinking about going within.
Not just shutting my door against
the frightening intruder
who would take my breath,
my life. But going within,
like a miner, headlamp glowing,
searching.

In the year since I lost him,
I’ve been bobbing and weaving
like a boxer in a ring.
But Truth will have its way.
And Grief, like the thickest fog,
like the fog that night
when he drove with his head
out of the window just to see
what was right before him,
well, it will settle in, surround,
and claim you.

In my dreams during the outbreak
he would show up
and let me hug him, touch him.
We could only touch ghosts,
so they appeared,
having been long ignored;
it was their time to be seen
and held
once more.