Since everything has changed forever, 

This mundane timeline seems to matter.

I would have forgotten it before. 

Last flight + Last Real Trip: January 4

Mexico City. Danza de los Voladores,

The Diego Rivera Murals, 

An elegant meal at La Casa de las Sirenas,

At sunset, overlooking the Zócalo, 

Hours by road though Michoacán

To Sierra Cinqua and Cerro Pelon

Monarch butterflies warming their wings

As the sun shimmered through the trees

In their threatened paradise.

The air so cold and thin at 10,000 feet

I shivered and could hardly breathe.

Last road trip: January 24

A five-hour drive in blinding rain.

Wings of Winter

In improbably named Paris, Tennessee. 

Eagle-watching on Kentucky Lake.

Then slogging through the cold marshes, 

Exclaiming over trumpeter swans.

Last Group Hike at Floracliff: February 22

Winter Tree Identification

The day a brilliant blue.

Sycamore seeds, hornbeam buds,

Locust thorns, the pods of coffee trees.

Every promise of a spectacular spring. 

Last Book Club Meeting: February 23

Poetry night at a member’s country house.

We laughed, drank wine,

Ate too much party food, 

Talked of reading and travel, 

Never thought about Wuhan.

Last swim lesson: February 24

Falling Springs, with Hannah

Practicing to snorkel

In the Indian Ocean this fall.

I won’t be going. 

Last haircut: February 25

No worries there; my hair already gray. 

A simple cut, a few long layers. 

Amazon sells sharp scissors. 

Last public meeting: March 5

Woodford County Public Library

Beginning Vegetable Gardening

Seed packets from the extension office.

The next day, a state of emergency declared.

I planted the pumpkins yesterday. 

Last meal out: March 11

Lunch for my husband’s birthday.

Don Jockey in Midway.

I had the divine poblano dish

With the pomegranate seeds.

We both drank gin for a toast

To a happy and healthy year. 

Last studio yoga class: March 14

The regulars all there, as if summoned

That Saturday morning. 

I awoke knowing I had to go. 

The old body so willing that day, 

Lifting easily into Crow. 

Last private Pilates lesson:  March 19

A weekly ritual for fourteen years. 

My trainer and I, both germaphobes,

Fretted about what would happen next.

We were right.

Last time the housekeeper came: March 19

So I posted a housekeeping schedule.

My husband cleaned the garage.

I cleared neglected closets.

We’ve gotten so good at this

We want to keep it up. 

Our well worn possessions shine.

First mask order: March 21

An odd start to spring. 

The CDC still said don’t wear masks. 

Political nonsense, bound to change. 

The friend who sewed the custom order refused payment.

I donated money to her local food bank instead. 

The World After

I don’t remember the last time casually stopped by a shop,

Left for the grocery without a mask and sanitizing kit,

Didn’t feel frightened if I anyone got too close.

Wasn’t panicked if a touched my face. 

I don’t know when I will ever again board a plane,

Stroll into an elevator, stay in a hotel,

Sit in a restaurant, browse a bookstore,

Book a massage, have a haircut,

Meet with friends and not go home afraid. 

My traveling days are likely over. 

There was a last time for everything.

It was a mercy not knowing when.