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Love poems in quarantine  Cover Image Book Book

Love poems in quarantine

Ruhl, Sarah 1974- (author.).

Summary: "An award-winning, multi-genre writer grapples with the pandemic, death of George Floyd, and other crises of our times in gnomic poems written from inside the purgatory (and sudden revelations) of quarantine."

Item details

  • ISBN: 9781556596308
  • ISBN: 1556596308
  • Physical Description: print
    xvii, 163 pages ; 20 cm
  • Publisher: Port Townsend, Washington : Copper Canyon Press, [2022]

Contents / Notes

Formatted Contents Note: One. Early days of quarantine -- What are we folding when we are folding laundry in quarantine? -- Easter poem during plague time (because there is no fake grass to put in your baskets this year, but there is real grass instead) -- Menopause in quarantine -- On homesickness, back when we traveled -- Behold and be-held -- March -- The sun in quarantine -- Regeneration -- Poems and dreams are free -- To Max Ritvo, who once said to me: -- A spider in our bed -- Differences between me and my dog -- Poems are good company -- Three kinds of light -- Two. Poems written after May 25, the day George Floyd was murdered -- White backup singers, June 1 -- Fire sermon -- Separating the laundry, June 6 -- Weekapaug -- For Robyn Tamura -- Whiteness near the Fourth of July 2020 -- Prom, 1989 -- A white lady at a theater cocktail party -- Fires -- Mothers' Day -- An end to apartheid in America -- Three. Haiku, tanta and senryū in quarantine -- Spring -- Crossing -- Love poem to my husband, who fixed the Scotch tape dispenser today -- Poppy anemone -- Was my poetry party a super-spreader? -- Haiku written with my son in March -- When in doubt, count -- Nonessential workers -- Yard -- Sleeping very late -- When I was a child I loved to watch soap bubbles pop in the evening air -- "I lose socks in the" -- Teaching on Zoom -- For Kathleen -- Ambiguity of red -- What day is it? -- Koan -- Sisyphus -- For Elvis Costello, who said to me: -- "I will teach you how" -- Quarantine, day 20 -- "Look out your window:" -- Dog mind -- The woman who was bagging my groceries, when I asked how she was, said: -- A riddle, the answer: live theater -- Trio on Zoom -- I am running out of things to cook -- For my oldest daughter -- And that is enough for now -- "In the city I noticed" -- Swallow -- I read that people who groom more during quarantine are happier and it seems like a chicken-or-egg situation but my friend tells me about foot masks so I buy one -- "When will we ever" -- Midday, and the children come out of their rooms where they have been learning on screens -- Watching the food lines grow in New Jersey -- Quarantine, day 90 -- Remembered poem of a second grader named Patrick, Queens, twenty-five years ago -- Another reason dogs are wise -- The shortest story -- "How holy, that day" -- It used to be very impolite -- Summer -- On a Zoom call, watching my in-laws throw my father-in-law's ashes into the sea -- Remembering a time we could eat oysters together -- While I am on a work Zoom call, my son -- White people make bread while Black and Brown people die in America -- A negative test while the moon rises -- Birthday haiku for Uncle Joe written on Zoom -- This summer -- How white am I? -- My daughter asked me when she was three: -- On time zones -- "My dog rubbed herself" -- Love and mess -- Equal taste -- Coral -- Mediation, day 121 of quarantine -- Polish the stone or the mind -- Walking in the dark -- In Tibet it is said that when -- Watching the bird fly standing still -- Shelter -- Move your pants before the tide comes in -- Time decides -- For Anne's seventy-sixth birthday -- Sunset -- For Tony -- And today all that happened was -- Communion wafer in the night sky -- For Anne -- Night-blooming cereus -- On entitled Brooklyn parents -- For John Cage, who said: -- My dog tries to walk into our old house -- Lawn mowers and Bashō's grass pillow -- You ask me to look in your eyes, and the familiar and unfamiliar rhyme -- If a dead butterfly can still fly, what does that signify? -- Can sea cucumbers be instructive? -- My children are baking bread again -- It was not a day for singing -- Large waves and children -- Immortality through property -- On a walk I saw a snake, a rabbit, and a dead rat -- I am a messy cook and this annoys my husband who is an orderly cook -- I think about patience while I chop mushrooms -- To my children -- This morning -- Today -- What is a child's duty? -- Quarantine in August, the overripe month -- Fall -- Cause and effect -- Meditation, day 207 -- Your body, a temple -- Attempt at holding opposing truths in the mind -- "Don't store your anger" -- A photo from when I was sick -- Waiting for a storm -- A shuttered business -- "There is no cure for" -- Bell's palsy, ten years out -- "Could I live in the" -- Books as food -- Tomorrow and tomorrow and time zones -- An argument -- I wear your sweater for extra warmth -- Is God a who or a what when the world falls apart? -- "Do you have grief to spare?" -- Books don't spread germs -- Block island -- Election day is windy in Rhode Island and the weather report says that -- "I thought it was a mist..." -- Alchemy -- "I was a child of" -- Hungry ghosts -- Winter -- As the days get shorter and shorter -- Today I learned that in kindergarten, a boy named -- "My first love came with" -- Snowstorm -- Again, snow -- Still life -- When I see you again -- "Computers can be" -- "The moon rises just" -- I made two false assumptions looking at a red cardinal -- Tanka, January 6 -- Boiling water isn't mad at the tea -- "This field. This snow. This" -- "Are you studying" -- Mediating outdoors -- Playing card games with others -- Meditation, January 18 -- Meditation, January 19 -- Nap -- Late afternoon -- Lesson from quarantine -- Upon walking -- Winter in Illinois -- A person can be pedantic about anything -- Counting the stars is impossible -- I'm scared of the desk today, so -- "The doors don't quite shut" -- And I was so happy -- "Why is my gaze so" -- Passage from one yard to another -- And all the frozen snow melted today -- I don't know anything about time -- Spring again -- And after all that -- A year since quarantine began -- "I am lucky: when" -- What of my eyes and their infallibility? -- "I no longer know" -- "There are things I must" -- "Instead of writing," -- My glasses sit on the rug -- Scrolling upon waking up -- I have brought my dog with me. Why? -- What is the holy name, you or the Lord? -- After the long winter -- "My dog writes for me" -- Freedom -- Horse racing -- The volunteers at the senior center vaccine parking lot, Six months without a barber and -- Equinox -- Seeing or showing -- Noon -- After all, it is irrational to be afraid of mold, which will come unless you eat the fruit -- Walking in a spring rain -- As in chess and other games... -- For three years I -- Sometimes God is when strangers touch -- Needs -- Changing the locks -- When my daughter heard the story of Oedipus -- "My dog sits zazen" -- I will try to -- There is a house somewhere -- I read somewhere that your cuts heal faster when you are in love and today -- "I want to be a" -- Morning dove -- Talking things over, we looked up and saw -- I, on top of you, looking at your face, and -- In the place where you were born -- Another storm -- "The window is shut" -- I learned that quarantine meant 40 days and now it's day 400 -- "What the earth does well" -- Poem catching -- "Where is the birdcall?"
Subject: Quarantine Poetry
Genre: Poetry

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