March 16: My First Pandemic, Ellen Bryant Voigt, "Kyrie"

Day three of social distancing.

Went back to work today, with much trepidation.  I've read too may horror stories this past weekend.  We are living in a unique age.  My daughter, last night, said to me, "This is my very first pandemic." 

Saint Marty said a silent prayer that it would be her LAST pandemic.

Another selection from Ellen Bryant Voigt's Krie.  The third poem of the book.

from Kyrie

by:  Ellen Bryant Voigt

Dear Mattie, You're sweet to write me every day.
The train was not so bad, I found a seat,
watched the landscape flatten until dark,
ate the lunch you packed, your good chess pie.
I've made a friend, a Carolina man
who looks like Emmett Cocke, same big grin,
square teeth.  Curses hard but he can shoot.
Sergeant calls him Pug I don't know why.
It's hot here but we're not here for long.
Most of all we do is march and shine our boots.
In the drills they keep us 20 feet apart
on account of sickness in the camp..
In case you think to send more pie, send two.
I'll try to bring you back some French Perfume.