as brave as what? as blind as what? as busy as what? as calm as what? as crafty as what? as faithful as what? as hungry as what? as wet as what? as wise as what? as meak as what? as quiet as what? as clear as what? as dry as what? as heavy as what? as honest as what?
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Report from Texas by Naomi Shihab Nye
When the young ones the strongest ones in the family lay drenched and gasping with the terrible virus and we the older weaker ones stared out windows all day into night counting birds that landed on feeders feeding them everything we had old cookies from the freezer ancient crumbs discovered in a shiny sack restlessly stirring soups flipping small green onion omelettes when we could do nothing for the sick ones but think about them hound them with our text messages which often went unanswered for days when the days were so long I thought I might have had another birthday when the count kept climbing the child asked Where's Dada? and we said he'll be well soon but nobody knew when the spring grass popped with pink flowers as if any hopeful year and the streets sang a silent song the sky held us all in our rooms on our terraces and no one knew what came next which we still don't, I thought of Ledbury. Cobbled streets where people pass, fearless. Shop for fish & chips down the alley. Waiting with others. Shining cider spigots lined. Billowing flowers from cottage doorways. The normal hours. And the listening. Oh god the listening. Eighty events in a row so rich so spectacular as if I had bought everything in the most luxurious shop my ears ever visited. And I wanted to be there again in another time a time of poetry more than anywhere else on earth. In memory was the comfort.