I wrote a poem about getting better after having COVID but didn't share it here (or anywhere). I participated in a writing group over the summer, which was sometimes wonderful and sometimes not (because it's important to find a writing group that "gets" you and your style and this summer group...wasn't it; my writing group the previous semester was, but unfortunately they disbanded). Anyway, when I remember how hot and horrible the Dog Days of summer are, I understand why we didn't have people over earlier (it's hot and humid and we really have to figure something out about the mosquitoes).
I never thought I would say that cold weather is easier to deal with, but can now understand why people might say that.
But only because it's not really that cold here.
I would not be saying those words if I lived in Alberta. Trust me.
Anyway, here's a poem about COVID that probably won't get published anywhere but here (and that's okay):
Dog Days in the Pandemic
After COVID chewed us up,
it opened the door and spat
us onto the pavement,
where we sat, stunned
and sticky in the pushy humid air.
Fireflies flirt with fireworks and heat lighting
reapplies rouge to the gloaming clouds.
A neighbour produces sparklers.
The kids hold them and run
in the residue of the sun’s 10,000°—
Sirius’ heat nipping at slapping,
shoeless feet. 1000° in their hands keeping them six feet apart.
We'll figure out how to hang out in the summer later, since all we seem to hear from anyone is that it's too hot and too buggy or too dark and too cold to plan outdoor events. For now I will just cross my fingers that this fresh air soirée was well-received by our youthful attendees.