Bent low over a blank patch of my vegetable garden I hear
a neighbor’s dog barking for another ball toss, a laugh from the same
yard, quick clip of tricycle wheels over sidewalk cracks, buzz of a saw from
an open garage, whir of small nylon trucks underside a longboard taking
the hill from the top of the street. I imagine things are back to
normal as I pickle the top of the soil with my fingertips and press a pea
in every inch measured with a knuckle. Dirt.
I imagine days are normal again. To holler across to the laugh and offer
my extra seeds. Start a conversation toe-to-toe. See the whites of eyes attached to the hand that waves from their side of the property line. I imagine normal with my eyes closed. This Sun has brought us all out today and this evening we could be sitting on my porch sharing cookies.
“Hello!” Loud. Forced. Muffled. Torn from the neighborly storyline I am sowing. A friend in latex gloves and surgical mask out for a walk. Had to get out of the condo where the Association laid-off the desk-clerk, the grounds-keeper. Enforced one person only elevator rules. With elbow button punching rules. No talking outside of unit rules. Hand-sanitizer rules. Closed window rules. Yellow tape in…
