I suppose I should be writing at least one poem because it is National Poetry Month and because part of my identity is as a poet in the world. But I’m struggling because I cannot find the words. 

I want to write a poem that is a love letter to the world, but I don’t have the words to write it. The language in which I write has a vocabulary of over one million but, right now, I can hardly access one hundred. 

The words to which I still have access insist on their distance. 

They refuse to connect into sentences. 

These words insist on their self-isolation.

The Insist List (Selected from the Top 100):

I’ve tried all the tricks in the book to get these words to form lines, then sentences, but they refuse, even if I try to string them together with less resistant words, like: Perhaps, maybe, possibly, or even words like and, or, before, after.  

Reader, I gave up.  

Reader, I looked instead for a way to connect with people instead of the page and I asked those people for help.  

Sentences that connect people to people:

Today, I love my family—both blood ties and otherwise familial connections—whose presence in this world shines a bright light in the ever-encroaching darkness. 
Today, I miss my normal body temperature; I am looking forward to the days ahead when I will beat this viral infection and all will be well again. (Stephanie H.)

Today, I love my yoga studio for teaching classes on Instagram Live. 
Today, I miss my yoga studio, live and in person. (RJ S.)

Today, I love that this virus is making us work a little harder at connecting with each other, even if it is through technology. 
Today, I miss being in the rehearsal hall, and work studios, with my collaborators. (Deborah B.)

Today, I love my clients, who keep giving me work. 
Today, I miss hugs. (Jodi L.)

Today, I love people. 
Today, I miss my mom. (Sherri S.)

Today, I love the stillness of the world and the way nature is asserting its power over the planet. 
Today, I miss the Florida ocean and the beauty of a sunrise.  (Pittershawn P.)

Today, I love the cherry blossom tree in the daffodil glen behind our flat. 
Today, I miss drinking tea with my friend Sharon at 8 a.m. before she goes to work…trotting down the alley in Colorado with my mug… (Bhanu K.)

Today, I love my friends and family who keep checking on me and each other. 
Today, I miss President Obama.  (Lisa C.)

Today, I love the damp soft air of spring in Maine, a certain kind of cold with deeper rain roots that comes through as the ground opens and brings the fierce and frost-surviving crocus up. 
Today, I miss my beloveds in NYC and in the West and in Europe—chosen and blood family who touch my heart and help me remember it. (Bea G.)

Today, I love this cup of Yorkshire Gold Tea with Cream & Sugar. 
Today, I miss the TV show Reading Rainbow.  (Camille P.)

Today, I love the wisteria bursting in bloom over the garage. 
Today, I miss having my friends over for dinner. (Victoria N.)

Today, I love the grandfather who taught me about making “Slumgullion”, a soup from all the things I can scrounge from the leftovers and random things in my refrigerator and pantry. 
Today I miss that same grandfather, who could tell stories in his sleep and keep us entertained for hours. (Rebecca M.)

Today I love the wind. 
Today I miss this quiet corner of a nearby bar that I stop by once a week to read and write and have a cup of soup—they, interestingly, have really good soup!  (Ron E.)

Today, I love the steady presence and calm of my husband beside me. 
Today, I miss the freedom to physically share the same space with my sons. (Aimee L.)

Today, I feel better than yesterday after a family housecleaning party in which Jimi Hendrix was blasting and all the doors and windows were flung open to the chilly spring afternoon. 
Today, I miss being able to turn on NPR and just listen without a wave of anxiety. (Suzanne L-C.)

And because of their words, as if by magic—the magic of connection—my own words stopped resisting and I could make sentences again:

Today, I love ginger and turmeric and coriander and pepper and oranges and lemons. 
Today, I miss daydreaming for hours on end. 

4/13/2020 
Vermont