Today I find myself avoiding cracks
in the sidewalk like a superstitious kid,
afraid a misstep might be tantamount
to tugging a loose thread
in the sweater of misfortune
we’ve been wearing since March.
Commercials remind us that we’re all in this together.
Chalk flowers and doodles on the pavement remind me
that children are living through this, too.
I wonder if it seems to them like a warped fairytale—
we’re all Rapunzels with overgrown hair, trapped
in a tower of our own making.
Maybe what’s going on doesn’t remind them
of any story they’ve ever heard.
Once Upon a Time bears no resemblance
to now or a past anyone can remember.
Perhaps all we can do is turn to poetry and prayer,
summon those ancient, invisible forces to battle an invisible virus.