The Season of Oxymorons - Gwynn O’Gara

[Larry Robinson]

The Season of Oxymorons

In the midst of the pandemic lockdown
the beautiful spring day sings through the leaves.

Grateful to taste the cream in the milk,
I muster the will to let go.

Socially distant. Together apart. 
The Bunny who lays eggs and the Angel of death.

Mask of goodwill. Virgin forest tp.
Wasp nest in my head, picking up the phone.

I dig into the catacombs of my study, 
read fictions about longevity.

Wet leaves and dark clouds whisper, summer.
The virus will rest this summer? Will I?

The bees keep going back to sleep.
I put on my armor to grocery shop.

I haven’t seen the sky this blue in years.
Is there a vaccine for lack of compassion?

Everyday uncertainty’s fresh. In a land 
of too much, it’s hard to gauge what’s enough. 

The poppies blink, the old aunties.
People discover birdsong and Crow.

Howling with neighbors I haven’t met yet, and dogs—
the only thing that keeps me sane.

	- Gwynn O’Gara

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