Yesterday I brought a friend 7 pounds of frozen chicken. It was the only thing I could offer when she and her family went into sudden home quarantine. Her husband’s doctor declared his relatively mild symptoms “assumed Covid-19” and told him to stay hydrated and as separate as possible from the rest of the family. So he’s spending the next two weeks in the guest bedroom, which got me thinking that they’re pretty lucky to have a guest bedroom.

You wouldn’t have known there was chicken in that string bag on my back. I walked through our suburban neighborhood around 5 pm at the end of my workday, which still felt mostly like a workday. I’ve worked remotely for years, with a team of writing coaches in Nashville and Baltimore. My business partner and I sit side-by-side at a long desk and try not to bother each other too much. It’s companionable, and I miss her. So while I’m used to meeting clients on Zoom and using all sorts of electronic tools to keep in touch with our staff, it’s weird having the rest of the family home with me. I don’t mind it – in fact, I like being able to eat lunch or go for a quick walk with my husband – but everything feels just a bit unsettled.

I am trying to be kind to myself and the people around me. I am trying to keep my expectations low. I am not going to learn to knit or revise and submit that half-finished manuscript. I am not going to prep my garden or train our puppy to do tricks. I am going to walk or run as many mornings as possible with my running buddy, because we have committed to getting outside together at 6 am, six feet apart in the dark. I am going to eat dinner with my husband and children each night, barring other commitments that might keep them from the table. I am going to let go of watching every free streaming movie, concert or play. I might read a little bit more than usual. But maybe not.

I am letting the uncertainty wash over me. Living with it. Letting it go.

One friend is hosting daily Zoom check-ins at noon, which I’ve put on my calendar, but have not yet attended. Another friend has been posting poems on Facebook each day. Here’s today’s, which I texted to my quarantined pal, because I don’t have any more chicken to share.

I Am Offering this Poem
By Jimmy Santiago Baca

I am offering this poem to you,
since I have nothing else to give.
Keep it like a warm coat
when winter comes to cover you,
or like a pair of thick socks
the cold cannot bite through,

I love you,

I have nothing else to give you,
so it is a pot full of yellow corn
to warm your belly in winter,
it is a scarf for your head, to wear
over your hair, to tie up around your face,

I love you,

Keep it, treasure this as you would
if you were lost, needing direction,
in the wilderness life becomes when mature;
and in the corner of your drawer,
tucked away like a cabin or hogan
in dense trees, come knocking,
and I will answer, give you directions,
and let you warm yourself by this fire,
rest by this fire, and make you feel safe

I love you,

It’s all I have to give,
and all anyone needs to live,
and to go on living inside,
when the world outside
no longer cares if you live or die;
remember,

I love you.