The feeling of a pillow
Pressed against one’s face
Like the world has come to stop
To a slow and awful pace.
Forced to be quarantined
Separated and alone
With nothing but the beeping of monitors
To remind you of your home.
The cold of the hospital
And the doctor’s hands
Laying down becomes a chore
It’s hard to think “I can”.
Sweaty foreheads
Aching throats
Body shaking,
Rocking, like a boat.
The word you hear,
Almost constantly
Is death…
And what it can, and will, be.
Remember when, the streets were filled?
Of all the laughing children?
All that has changed, now that it’s here
Here, but still unspoken.
This cough, this cold, that keeps us here
Forcing us to stay
If we could only reunite
Then we could save the day.
Maybe when, the time is right
We will find a cure
But until that day, that fateful day,
We will just have to endure.
Submitted by Tabitha C., Riverside County – La Quinta.