April 8, 2020
Spellbound
By Michelle Garren Flye
I stopped for the butterfly,
Spellbound by his splendor,
As if he were dressed in finery
At an event where I wore jeans.
Sunlight sparked jeweled wings,
Black and gold speckled shade.
Magnificence in the midst
Of common beauty.
He took no notice of me
Though I froze in place
To make way for his jaywalking.
He just fluttered by,
Leaving me foolish,
A heart-deep longing
He woke in me.
April 7, 2020
Mother’s Storm
By Michelle Garren Flye
The storm hit us finally, with a smack—
A big, backhanded, whack.
We didn’t know quite what to think.
Why would Mother do us this way?
Why cast us into the fray?
Why would she push us to the brink?
And yet rain poured, and the water rose.
We were in it up to our nose.
And the storm, we found, was the link.
We figured out Mother wasn’t just mad,
No, our Mother was downright bad.
She wanted to blind us, wanted us to sink.
That’s not in a mother’s nature, it is true,
But when she’s thrown askew,
Mother Nature will kill without a blink.
April 6, 2020
Mortality
By Michelle Garren Flye
Immortal words are hard to match.
Immortal actions impossible to catch.
Mere humans cannot hope to fight
What Gods defeat with a show of might.
Yet we plod on, we persist in trying.
Some may even come close to flying.
But most of us remain on the ground,
Our wings clipped, our feet earth-bound.
Do the Gods of Olympus laugh at our effort?
Do they snicker as we grovel in the dirt?
Or maybe some of them can’t help but admire
That rain and wind cannot defeat human fire.
Mortal deeds may be undone over time.
Statues fall, paintings fade, words fail to rhyme.
But persistence in spite of defeat impresses,
And that alone accounts for our successes.
Light
By Michelle Garren Flye
I see you.
Falling, gliding, from the sky.
You slide across a spider web,
Amazing feat of parkour.
Skating across the water,
Dancing, dazzling.
You skip nimble from ripple to ripple.
Even when the curtains are shut, you sneak in.
Sometimes you hurt.
Maybe you don’t mean it, but you do.
I turn away, close my eyes against the tears,
But they come anyway.
You never fail me, though, even in the darkest night
And bleakest day, I can find you.
I see you,
And that’s your gift.
An attempt at a sonnet, sort of a sonneninzio, inspired by Shakespeare’s Sonnet 15:
Everything Grows (for the Bard)
By Michelle Garren Flye
Everything grows, according to Shakespeare—
From the smallest microbe to the tallest tree.
Everything rushes to ends we all fear,
Hurrying along to the only way to be free.
What happens to us in the end, do you think?
What happens at last to the things that grow?
When life’s grasp loosens on eternity’s brink,
And we find ourselves caught in the universe’s flow.
What mysteries might we at last resolve?
Some say we fade, less important than we thought.
But maybe we find our way to finally evolve?
Into something better, something we’ve always sought.
Whatever happens, we can’t deny the bard was right.
Everything grows, everything rushes into the night.
Humans, as a whole, have a difficult time seeing clearly beyond their own noses. I’m guilty of it, too. Some have a gift of empathy where they not only see clearly what is happening to others beyond their own experience, they feel it, too. These poor creatures are definitely the exceptions.
Look at what’s going on now. Here in southeastern North Carolina, we’re dealing with the restrictions that COVID-19 has placed on our entire nation, we’re watching the news and seeing the numbers tick steadily up—but the people around us don’t appear to be sick. Maybe some of them are, but their cases must be extremely mild. We know that there are more cases out there and we could be next. We know it, but we don’t, for the most part, actually feel it.
And so we go on about our lives. We’ve taken up new hobbies, returned to old ones. The kids go to “online” school every day. Some of us are chafing a little at the restrictions. My kids can’t see their friends. My oldest is missing the second half of his sophomore year at college. But over it all, right now (and it may be short-lived), I have a feeling of profound peace. I’m not rushing anymore. I’m not feeling guilty for devoting so much time to the theater work I love instead of making dinner for my family. I have time to fold laundry and wash dishes. I’m enjoying this unanticipated vacation.
And I know it shows a lack of empathy that I can feel peaceful right now. Maybe this is the end of everything, maybe it’s the ruination of our country, maybe it’s the apocalypse. Anyway…
Peace and Rubble (is this how we go?)
By Michelle Garren Flye
If this is the way we go, I think it’s the way I choose:
Family all around, safe in our home, with love as real
As the things I care about—the only things I have to lose;
Maybe that’s wrong to say but it’s the way I feel.
It’s an odd war we’re fighting, of that there is no doubt.
The enemy is hidden, you can’t even see the rubble.
There’s nothing to show on the nightly news, no bout
Of bombing or flattened buildings—maybe that’s the trouble.
Instead of fighting, we’re asked to sit still and quiet
Don’t go out, stay home with your loved ones, they say.
There’s a special joy in that if you’ll only find it,
A life you’ve not given yourself time to live—until today.
When this whole coronavirus thing started, I mourned the theaters closing down, the canceled basketball seasons, the silenced concerts. In my mind, art is what makes us all who we are, whether we make it, appreciate it or resist it. That’s why repressive regimes cut art funding. That’s why freedom of expression is the first freedom lost and the last to be regained. Art pushes boundaries governments don’t want to be pushed, and when it’s given up voluntarily as it has been in the Covid-19 crisis, I sometimes worry it won’t return easily.
And yet.
Art is still happening. Theaters are finding ways to stream plays. Musicians are offering live stream concerts. Sports fanatics are getting their fix by watching classic games. And this got me started thinking. Art has always found a way. It always will.
Unstoppable (an ode to art)
By Michelle Garren Flye
It squeezes through the cracks.
Look there, at that wall, solid brick
Built to contain, to hold back, to keep out.
Sturdy and solid, at least eight inches thick…
But don’t lose concentration, don’t turn your backs!
I tell you, if you do, it will creep through the cracks.
It’ll ooze through the tiniest of the littlest of spaces.
And what harm can that do, I can just hear you ask.
What harm can a little bit do, even in the worst cases?
I’m glad you asked, because it’s likes poison in snacks.
It’s the sneakiest of things, when it slides through the cracks.
No one understands just how serious it is.
It will decay all our rules, promote thought and reflection.
That kind of thing will spell the end of all this.
Maybe it’s time we start to make tracks.
You can still stop it! Maybe pile sticks into stacks?
Or chew up some gum to stop the hole fast?
As a last measure, you can hold it back with your hands?
But you’ll feel it squeezing, creeping, oozing past…
There’s no way to keep art from getting through the cracks.
I know how lucky I am. I get to go into a bookstore every single day. In these coronavirus days, that’s something special. Admittedly, I know this time is a setback. I certainly never imagined I would end up closing down for weeks and possibly months this soon after becoming the owner of a bookstore. But life’s lemons make sweet lemonade if you know the recipe, and for me, that recipe includes a lot of books and time.
Today, I will go back to the bookstore. I will sit behind my desk and do paperwork and hope the phone will ring. I will spend some time dusting and rearranging shelves. And I will spend some time just sitting silently. But I won’t be alone.
An Empty Bookstore
By Michelle Garren Flye
An empty bookstore is still quite full.
Just sit silent and listen for a minute.
You’ll find the characters of another soul
Acting stories for your entertainment.
Look there! It’s Hazel from Watership Down!
He’d best watch out, McGregor’s not picky—
Peter Rabbit escaped and ran into town,
And farmers say all pesky rabbits are tricky.
In a quiet corner, the Little Women gather.
Meg, Jo, Amy, Beth dream dreams of future days.
I wonder what they’d think of today, whether
Marmee would approve of our wayward ways?
Curious George flies a kite with Paddington Bear,
Ignoring Jekyll’s Hyde lurking in the shadows.
Scarlett O’Hara ponders which dress to wear
While Atticus Finch seeks to deal legal blows.
Over yonder lies Dracula’s coffin in state
And don’t forget to check in on Miss Havisham.
Now that you’re ready to flee, just wait—
Anne Shirley is here with green egg’s Sam.
The longer you sit quiet in this empty place
The more peopled you’ll find it is in the end.
You know, you can do the same in your own space?
Books are all you need to make a friend.
In truth, I feel we’ve all been denying truth and facts and science for so long in favor of what one political party or another says, I’m not certain we’re going to really get this pandemic thing until it smacks us in the face. And it’s a slow-moving thing that we’ve been misled about by the government that’s supposed to be looking out for us, so now that we’re told what’s actually happening and what needs to be done to stop it…nobody believes it. Even I—and I am far from a fact-denier—have a hard time believing it’s really so bad that restaurants need to close and kids shouldn’t have play dates. I still go into my store every day hoping it will be normal again. But it’s not. The little town I live in is spookily empty on these bright spring days.
And in spite of all that, it angers me to hear others make this political. The Democrats made it up, the media is whipping us into mass hysteria, it’s no worse than the flu. Yeah, I know it’s hard to accept, but this thing can kill you. And if not you, then someone you love. It’s the first true pandemic since the 1918 influenza epidemic which killed more people than World War I, and we’re still in the beginning stages of it. Denying it won’t stop it, any more than denying global warming will stop the seas’ rise.
That’s where we are right now. We have to make some tough decisions. Tough times are coming, and if history is any indicator, we most likely won’t learn anything from it.
Pandemic of the Head
By Michelle Garren Flye
It’s never happened before, so it can’t be happening—whoa!
Who can tell if this is the end of the world…or just for show?
Yet people sicken and die—but that happens every day.
How can we judge if it’s wrong to go this way?
Time to be responsible, that’s what you claim—
Have you no care for the pocketbooks you maim?
No parties left but political ones, and those you can’t attend.
Who will be left to pick up the pieces of what’s left in the end?
The sweep of a pen proclaims we must stay at home to work.
But what of those whose businesses can’t survive such torque?
Some will suffer more than others, of that there is no doubt.
The choice is simple—sickness and death is the only way out.
Shelter in place to protect the weak of our society.
Quarantine is a trial, but there’s nowhere left to flee.
No matter how this ends, both sides will declare tis what they said:
A pandemic like no other before…but it was all in your head.
I’m seeing so many wonderful things happening in my little town during this COVID-19 outbreak, I can’t help but be hopeful. Yes, the downtown is a bit of a ghost town (as it should be), but friends and strangers are reaching out in whatever ways they can to help support the businesses that are suffering, including my little bookstore.
I’m seeing teachers reaching out to students, helping them adjust to distance learning and trying to reassure them. Schools are sending lunches out to children in the community. Everyone in the education community is doing their best to help kids accept the “new normal” that might be with us for quite a while.
No, none of this is okay. But with a little faith, it will be, and you can find faith in unexpected places.
Finding Faith
By Michelle Garren Flye
Faith grows in unexpected places
You find it in the darkest spaces
And on the homeliest faces
And sometimes in bright daylight
Even out in plain sight
Or in the laughter of pure delight
It can be found in the smile of a child
Or growing free in the wild
Or possibly among the papers you filed
Just watch and you’ll see
How easy it can be
You’ll find your faith eventually.
BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye 