SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days

Mother Covid19 Sunday

To the plucky healthcare worker who spent half the night on our couch
comforted by the felines now sleeping on blanket-wrapped legs
and on the arm just above her head -- clouds obscure our horizon --
this morning. Two other truants -- still a-snooze with no plans to lift --
have internet-ordered paraphernalia (on the way), after I announced
she's not my mother just one week before this day. Not my turn to cover her
with flowers to bed, favorite chocolates or exquisite coffee blends
-- it's up to you -- while she is still suffering, post-recovery
from symptoms of a Covid19/SARSCoV-2, what have you, that lynched her
as she performed obediently her newfound hospital duty (to get paid)
-- forced her 18 days in a room on mattress on the floor --
-- shower curtain to divide her in our house her beloved laid waste --
attacked where she greeted ailing symptomatic sufferers of a potential
deadly virus until one of them spilled on the pavement near her face
with her paper-thin PPE, when her true isolation would begin.
-- No hugs for three weeks, no kisses upon the cheek --
certainly could be made up in 24 hours, let alone seven days this week.

As I type and then view through our kitchen window, I am imagining
our neighborhood market arriving, others with symptoms hiding, co-mingling
just inside that obedient, sliding door, knowing I alone could deliver her
all described and much more in just one hour. But, the best gift I can give
is to remain vigilant, stronger and not another sufferer in this crisis
until the last lung heals, she stops complaining post-recovery. And,
would it kill you God to turn back on the sun before she arrives
another abysmal morn in a captive world, inside this sequestered,
ruminating company waiting for the day we can linger outside this door?