Summer Tanka for a Humid Night--COVID-19's Breathless Wrath

Humidity hangs

in harbour's mouth as fog skims

over river bed-

empty mussel shells exposed

to air- breathing deeply hurts.

Something about the Charlottetown Harbour this evening was mesmerizing. The light fog over the so still waters looked haunting in the dwindling light. The low tide drew the waters out to some of the furthest reaches I've seen in some time and as it did it felt like something in me was being pulled by invisible forces, drawn out and laid bare. The night, as it fell, made me recall early lockdown and the suffocating feeling of uncertainty and containment. It matched perfectly how I felt then and again this week.

And yet, happily it is summertime and I and my loved ones are still breathing.

And yet, sadly it is summertime and too many others breathe no more.

This week I have not been able to lose the images of three young girls lost to forces beyond their control. I grieve for their loss and the confusion and pain which precipitated these tragic events. I grieve for the untold number of children lost to similar forces the world over. I grieve for a world that is grieving over so much loss.

This post is to honour those children who have been lost to COVID-19's less visible but just as deadly wrath--that of the mental health crises which the pandemic has heightened. Drug abuse, domestic violence, parents tortured by ill mental health and the unimaginable choices tragically made at times in its foggy, fevered state. I wish us all hearts filled with a sense of spaciousness and compassion for all those affected/afflicted/lost to these suffocating forces.

Let there be light.

Let there be lightness.

Let there be ease.

Be well,

Love Jill