My manager glares at her phone as she announces to the entire restaurant that two people in Montreal have been diagnosed with this new virus.

I quit.

Kids scatter around the classroom, fearing one another as our professor sneezes into the board.

Bathrooms are crowded with contagious hands and heavy conversations.

The virus has a name, becomes a faceless beast devouring the present, salivating at tomorrow’s interactions

Schools close, restaurants count their customers and the world rushes towards a surreal tomorrow

Two weeks heightens into five; eventually time becomes still.

The days are misplaced among the eerie silence as the world lurks, waiting for…

Something

A shift, a fluctuation?

Anything.

Death or Salvation

Praying to nothing and everything at once, excuse my impoliteness for refusing to shake hands, could you please spray disinfectants on your eyes?

The virus grows with our children, accompanies them through their first two years of life

Cry into your isolation, call up a friend, he might be fallen

When will this end?