Love in a Time of Coronavirus

Death dons a new face

and the whole world hides behind a mask,

has quarantined itself indoors;

yet, each morning brings new mourning

as statistics continue to worsen.

The odds are in our favor

but every day I still read story

after story

of those lost to this virus,

those whose odds were not favorable.

Sure, my chance of survival is high but what if

I’ve made a mistake,

my preventative measures not cautious enough?

Any day now, it could be my name in the paper,

just another number lost in the statistics.

I obsessively look out the window

keeping watch for an enemy impossible to see.

Like this old house, my body groans and creaks;

every new noise has me panicked

about an unwanted visitor.

There is always a thermometer in my mouth now,

the constant smell of bleach on every surface.

I have not felt my lover’s touch in months.

We promised to let nothing come between us—

all it’s taken is 125 nanometers.

There is a killer on the loose

600 times smaller than the diameter of a strand of hair,

her hair that used to be everywhere.

Her smell in my clothes, in my sheets,

the subtle reminders of her frequent presence

washed away with disinfectant.

We must stand apart now

to improve the odds we can live a long life

together when this is all over.

This is the happiest love I’ve ever known

and I stay awake at night worried

that I won’t make it long enough to hold her again,

that I’ll wake up in a lonely hospital room,

machines keeping me alive.

I stay awake at night worried

that all the bleach, all the Lysol,

all the masks the in world, all the distance

won’t make a difference.

I stay awake at night worried

that I will be prematurely plucked from this life

and never get the chance to love her

for as long or as much as she deserves.