Writing Toward Healing
the food, I may have brought contagion. Even now, it may be in my breath, in the touch of my hands. I prepare a Quarantine Room in a spare guest bedroom in our basement. If one of us gets sick, I will go down there. If one of us gets sick, we can manage. If we both get sick . . . if we both get sick . . . if we both get sick. That is the thought that runs through my mind like a hamster running its exercise wheel. You watch me coming and going to the spare room in our basement carrying old towels and sheets and blankets in my arms but say nothing. People use the phrase, “when we are on the other side of this.” It may be a year or more before we are on the other side, and that is a long time. I hug you as often as I can. How do we keep each other safe in
N C L R ONLINE
a world where stars may explode, or not; where bats harbor strange and deadly diseases that can sweep across the globe at the speed of a passenger jet? Orion is below the horizon until next winter. Now I watch for Venus, which glows in the western sky after sunset. It almost always shines through the wispy clouds obscuring the stars of early evening. As the gloaming darkens into dusk, I look west. I have lost track of the phases of the moon. I have lost my anchor on our position in the universe. Then, one night, I see the slender waxing crescent moon near Venus. I feel myself reorient to the ancient celestial rhythms. As April moves into May and Betelgeuse shines brightly in more southerly skies, I pretend Venus is a star and make my wish. It is always the same wish. n
Rosette Nebula (astrophotograph) by Tim Christensen COURTESY OF THE ARTIST
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