This moment contains the Agony of not knowing what tomorrow will bring, And the certainty that it will be the same. It contains the fear of the dangers of the virus And the knowledge that some have privilege to protect themselves It has within it the gift of slowing down, for some, for myself, And reverence for the teachers It contains the struggle of being an ineffective substitute. This moment contains my rage at those who say abandon your elders, my disgust for CEOs who sacrifice their frontlines for profits. It contains tender gratitude for our never-heroes: Garbage and sanitation, postal workers, grocery store employees. This moment contains my breath and heart beat, It contains my compulsive eating and elusive sleep This moment contains healing for Mother Earth, Cleansing her air and waterways. It contains grief for the comforts we are leaving behind, And terror that we will design the same tomorrow. It is a birth, as well as a death. It is the flowering of seeds planted long ago. The flower is opening, Infinite beauty contained In one unfurling petal. It contains thorns, too, and a sweet, sweet scent. It is a birth, and a death. i will not design the same tomorrow. i will hold the scent and the thorns.