The sun doesn’t know
there’s a Coronavirus.
He shows up daily –
not burning, but smiling,
If you listen, he tells you
he’ll be here tomorrow
and next week
and a thousand years from now.
The mustard flowers on the side of the road
don’t know about it.
It’s only early March and still, a few showers
and they’ve rushed out like an army.
They only wash their hands
of all the panic
and wait for rain.
My neighbors’ bougainvillea flowers
only know the fuchsia, shining,
of their sun-lit faces, mirrors
of our own amazing, healing light.
By Jane Marla Robbins