Until then.

(A poetic offering.)

When all of this is done
Will we recognize each other again?

When all the masks are put away
Will you know me with hair turning gray?

Will you know me with
less weight, or more?
Will you still avoid
the grocery stores?
Will you stay distant
because of habits you’ve learned?
Will you be content
to not publicly return –
To the hustle, the bustle,
The social, the noise?
Will you remember that others
Sometimes brought you joy?
Will you reach out for hugs
Or will you retreat?
Will you give extra space
But somehow still feel complete?

When all of this is done,
Will we recognize each other again?

Will you know my smile
But be unable to place me?
Will you talk about meeting
But decide not to face me?
Will you look at your invites
But decide not to go?
Will you look in my eyes,
Or just look at your phone?
Will we remember a hug
As a thing of the past?
Will breaking bread together
Break this long, lonely fast?
Will we appreciate
These strangely given gifts,
Or will we return them
Because they no longer fit?

When all of this is done
Will we remember how to be together again?

Will you know my kid
Who can run, jump, and talk?
The last time you saw him,
He couldn’t even walk.
Will you know my voice
When I’m not on a screen,
Will we all readjust
To what togetherness means?
I don’t have the answers.
I don’t mean to guilt.
But I wonder about all these
Changes we’ve built?
I think some have helped us
To be compassionate, kind;
But I think some have shifted
Our bodies and minds.
In the mirror, this morning,
I don’t know my own face.
How can I expect you would –
Through this time and space?
Will we all recognize
That we’ve been through a lot?
Will that hold us close?
It might.
It might not.

I wonder if we’ll still find hope
In making new plans?

I wonder if I’ll know you
When I see you again?