Not This Time

A Grandmother’s Corona poem of birth

Photo by Isaac Quesada on Unsplash

Virus-distanced
from life —
I will be a grandmother
today — a day in
the Year of Corona,
my gene-pool continuing
in a time of turmoil.

I want to touch soft
and smooth skin
holding my ancestry
and ancient memories.

I want to hear his first cry
welcoming a lifetime
of tears and laughter
and happy-ever-afters.

I want to touch his
dewy hair and smell
his baby breath,
to be there when he is
for the first time.

But, Corona steals
my first of his first,
wraps it in a box marked
Not This Time

So, I wait, impatient,
anxious, excited for
the other firsts that
will come — not the first,
but many more,
all waiting in
gaily-wrapped parcels marked
This Time.