The tilt of the Earth brings us closer to the sun
We call it the spring in the northern hemisphere
My mom on the porch reads a book to her grandson
While we wait with impatience for the governor’s “All clear”
My nephew plays with sticks and a dead bug in the dirt
His babbling a welcome redirection from the fray
As my phone keeps insistently promoting each alert—
— I silence all distractions from the holy work of play.
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