Corona Collection

My mother tore dinner napkins in half

washed jelly jars to use as drinking glasses,

saved wet tea bags, dunked them twice.

 

These are hard times, she said,

though I never felt poor.

 

She survived TB, two long years in a sanitorium,

me sent to an orphan home.

 

I tear napkins in half to avoid excessive shopping.

Live in a solitary haze between four walls.

 

The mask I wear is not for masquerades.

 

 I step aside to avoid people on the street,

 wish I had a stubborn beagle to walk.

 

These are hard times.

But I refuse to feel deprived.