Michelle Brock and Gerry Jacobson
To Life
the poet’s garden
flourishes during lockdown
between
tanka and haiku he plants
garlic, peas, and beans
Looking back at lockdown it seems a rather bleak time. It’s comfortable for us in Canberra: plenty of bushwalking, cafes serving takeaway. But I did almost no new writing, though I did compile some old writing into a book. I did a lot of gardening, developed a ritual of planting something every day. With the usual weeding, trimming back shrubs, and composting, it was an hour or two daily. How to survive a plague and keep sane: own a wild, excessively large garden in a wet winter.
planting bulbs
for a spring that will come
images
of sickness and death
and vaccination
It’s been too long since I’ve hugged my grandchildren. Border restrictions have made it impossible to be with them. Last Christmas when they visited we made a fairy garden under the cedar tree, had tea parties, scribbled tiny notes to sprites, and placed them on beds of moss and petals at twilight. Despite Covid, time has refused to stand still. The eldest turned ten during a lockdown and I compiled a photo book for her birthday.
she tells me
fairies don’t exist . . .
how many
precious moments
have I missed?
I get the bus into Civic; it’s the first time in three months. It’s quiet: there are a few people on the streets, and a few cafes are open. I chat with the waiter about the re-opening of the town. We agree that hopefully, we’re immune enough now with 90 percent double vaxxed, and there will be no more lockdowns. I take my mask off to drink the long black. It’s bitter.
For Lease . . .
For Lease signs everywhere
and the bookshop
at the bus interchange
is boarded up
Although lockdown has lifted I’m wary about stepping back out into the world. The first day of summer arrives with the promise of sunshine, a relief after the soggy, rain-drenched spring. Today, walking along the path, I stop in my tracks. A brown snake is stretched out along the edge of the vegetable garden, basking in the warmth. I gasp. How easily I might have stepped on it as I sauntered past. It’s a reminder to take care. We are not the only ones who have made this place our home.
variant fifteen
on the prowl
omicron
I reach for my mask
in an anxious world
It seems like ‘back to work’ week. The writing group meets for the first time after three months of restrictions. Then the tanka group meets. Well, it’s the first time for me; I’ve avoided zoom meetings. Writing to prompts, sharing tanka, and journaling, I discover I’m sitting on a whole load of grief, suppressed. Now I’m working on linked verse projects with other people, and hopefully getting some of it out.
we dance alone
we dance as one
ensemble
socially distant
deeply connected
About the Authors
Michelle Brock is a poet and short-story writer. She lives on a bush block near Queanbeyan Australia and finds her inspiration along rivers and beaches and in the company of other writers. Her tanka and tanka prose appear in various journals and anthologies.
Gerry Jacobson lives in Canberra, Australia, and can be found writing tanka in its cafes. He was a geologist in a past life and now celebrates reincarnation as a dancer.