This morning, the fifth day of the seventh month of the pandemic

I ironed my favorite dress.

The one I wear with my lucky shoes

And I pick out that necklace that my doctoral advisor gave me for my defense 

Although she smiled—You don’t need any amulets.

The necklace with its brown beads is not a perfect match for this dress 

but I will wear it anyway because I am searching for a way for everything,

Every tiny gesture to carry meaning and weight  

To touch me and save me.

And when I wear that dress that special morning, 

I will wash my hair with the lavender shampoo my friend brought back from Paris

My hair will be lovely and full in that untamed way I find comfortable and free     

That brings me joy.

And when I finally meet my dearest of all friends after all of this is over

I know that we will be crying for all the missed conversations, for the ease of time

For those past days when our hearts were not bleeding and aching.

I see us in the warm late July sun over wine, looking over the bay.

We will be somewhat triumphant but more cowed and vulnerable

Wondering if now the time has come to release that wail of

suffering and despair—whether we have stood tall for too long.

Or if we should wait until the next time we meet in the early autumn

When we are a bit more collected, steady and confident in our embrace.

And those tears I will shed alone for the simple glorious random

Stroke of luck that I wasn’t buried in this my favorite dress although I had

written directions to do so in my will, written on the third week of these times.

When I could have walked blindly right into the virus snare as innocent as I was

Just ten days prior.