PANDEMIC POEMS by a mother and daughter Diana Caldwell and Melinda Dewsbury March 2020 – May 2021 and continuing March 23, 2020 EXPECTATIONS How can I build this web? It is my instinct My work of mind and hand. Spinning here and there. Interrupted. "Adapt your silk to this or this or this," they say. Once thin for one need Sticky smooth beaded thick Patterned for one but not another. I am a spider. Thwarted. - Melinda April 1, 2020 PIXELS My eyes are fixed on A series of squares Boxed-in humanity Defined and confined Geometrically The mobile beauty of messy life Made linear Pixelated Preserved like a jar of pickles Suspended in time. - Melinda May 1, 2020 DELUGE She passes the days and nights in her small apartment - isolated, incarcerated by the invisible, lurking threat. Her only human contacts (excluding by 'phone) are the workers bringing meals ....mail ....laundry. "Darlene brought me some groceries (I hadn't seen her for two weeks) and when I saw her in the foyer I just burst into tears! (I'm not a crier...) I cried, and cried, and couldn't stop - I wanted so badly to give her a hug! I was so embarrassed!" Alone-ness, an invisible wound that severs souls. - Diana PANDEMIC POEMS by a mother and daughter Diana Caldwell and Melinda Dewsbury March 2020 – May 2021 and continuing May 10, 2020 - Mother's Day GENETICS You wear your mothering in Your eyes Their hazel-green hue the genetic stamp A history of mothers, A record of people now only story or name or a line on a chart But your story is here Now In your eyes I've watched child-like fervour Curiosity Brilliance Like glimmering water in summer sun Deep shining pools in all its beauty and pain Crinkly riverbanks pouring out tears of uncontrollable laughter Worry and fear like the murky stream in early spring, The gravelly bed obscured by sediment Rapids of relief releasing in your smile, lines worn down by both joy and grief And your upward gaze to the firmament Seeking and beseeching and praising the One who sees all. Now in my mirror I glimpse a different colour looking back But some of your story Spilled into mine Expressions and movements and animation and I gladly wear These gifts of your mothering. -I love you, my mom - Melinda MOTHERING Louise, the Banty hen didn't suffer fools lightly when it came to her chicks. After all, she had spent 21 days "quarantined" to bring them to the hatch! They were so tiny, so vulnerable to predators prowling the farm premises - Why, even a gust of wind could spell their demise. But really, Louise - nesting on the highest beam in the barn? I understand. There were times, when I longed to gather you all together, hide you from all the dangers in the big, bad world, secrete you in a secluded space, but eventually, you would have suffocated under my wings. - Diana