You are here.
What remains of what was
matters less and less as
distance replaces the time
between then and this.
That was then.
This is now.
original content and images ©j.g. lewis
A thought du jour, my daily breath includes collected and conceived observations, questions of life, fortune cookie philosophies, reminders, messages of peace and simplicity, unsolicited advice, inspirations, quotes and words that got me thinking. They may get you thinking too . . .
What has been heard, what has been said, after 24 or 27 months give or take? More or less, what was said (even wished) was mainly, and above all else, that we wanted things to return to normal.
We were longing for the everyday day-to-day, the regular way, sort of; or at least, some semblance of such. We wanted, we said, to be with people again, doing the things we usually did.
We wanted to see smiles, again, on stranger’s faces, we said from behind our masks and wanting so much for our lips to be read as much as our expressions of joy. Or reality. Or anything other than what it was for the 26 or 25 months of what came to be.
We weren’t asking for much, really, or nothing any more spectacular than what life grants us on any given day. We wanted the ordinary, if nothing else.
What we have known is not over. How we are living, coping, or struggling, is not the same as it was eight months, or 11 months, back (or 25 or 23). It was a long time, and longer still will be this shadow of a virus that has hung over us (more than a footnote, and still not quite a chapter) in this never-ending story.
What was, or what is, close to some kind of normal, feels closer now. Dare we say it? We wished it, didn’t we, and here we are now more than two years later, finally gathering in parks and parades, galleries, shopping malls, and back at the office.
Masked or unmasked, we might not be as close as we were before, but we are working on it. Aren’t we? Can’t we now see, or hear and experience life, a little bit like we did before?
Yes, we want more, but right now this is as good as it gets for those of us still cautious, yet relieved, that we are here to see what’s going on.
It is, or seems to be, a return to the usual, the normal, and the everyday ways. For some of us it will never happen, for many of us it will never be, but for all of us there is a new (or another) opportunity for ordinary.
The ordinary: after all we have been through, that may even be better than it sounds.
I'm like a pencil;
Still I write.
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
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The cork released, the bottle waved,
just below her nose. 2:10.
Bubbles tickle, a scent of pears
and citrus, the taste of summer.
Damn you, for making me wait, she
whispers. She smiles.
2:15, he said. He was never late.
The bottle set on ice, denying herself
the indulgence, preferring the sensation of want. Intoxicating.
Crisp and clear
an afternoon by the pool
Just a few minutes. Soon.
Breathless, with anticipation.
She said she would never wait,
The bottle shouts
into a space tainted by the dread
Colourless the air,
deep burgundy takes over. Malbec,
Clearing the mind.
She disappears into the evening
all she should not.
Night after night the bottle calls out
Damn you, she whispers to the stillness.
She accepts the reality, but not
As dawn approaches, time remains
shrouded in thoughts once ignored.
I can’t do this any more, she screams.
Nobody can hear, not even
© 2015 j.g. lewis
April is Poetry Month
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