mid-winter depression a state of mind
comes with the cold

               everything happens as it always has

       you felt it less
   when you were younger

          thinking less of who you are
    or what you had
                  and more of what comes next

     it is surreal
                  a time of the year
                  when you don’t want to believe
                  what you were led to doubt

                  days-old snow and salt stains
   suspended
                  as if nothing is happening

                remains of the days
   sediment of continual mistakes

the sentiment of our leftover pain

            with mean-spirited weather
                and the threat of more

                                     there is no warmth

© 2021 j.g. lewis

Lifeless mitten lays in wait. Abandoned, stiff
atop a crunchy snow bank. The sidewalk
passes by, unknowing. Throbbing red fingers,
a child’s frostbitten hand, shiver beneath a
coat sleeve. Somewhere. Seeking warmth,
comfort against winter’s harsh reality.

Unclaimed. A mitten separated from its
purpose. We all, young and older, leave
pieces of ourselves scattered throughout time.
Paperbacks, pens, sunglasses, yoga mats,
carelessly or accidentally discarded.
A laundromat sock with no mate.

Possessions or promises, more lost
than found. Feelings, emotions cast
astray. Hopelessly lost. A lone mitten,
pieces of ourselves. Where do we
go when a bit of us is missing, when
our purpose is unrealized?

Where then, when we seek warmth.
are we? Waiting to be reunited with
missing parts? Another hand to hold?
Another day. Our fingers still numb, the
lone mitten still there. The sidewalk
passes by. We remain incomplete.

It’s been a year since I last hugged my daughter.
One year.
I have never gone this long without feeling her touch.
We talk on the phone, send text messages and share photos electronically, or write letters (a lot). We communicate; we always have.
But since this whole coronavirus thing began, we have not seen each other.
It hurts.
We are close. We live a province apart, but with some frequency we manage to spend time together. I fly there or she flies here.
Our time together is spent visiting galleries, or catching a play or concert, or we shop for vinyl, always walking the streets and talking about whatever comes to mind.
What we do is not as important as who we do it with.
And there are always hugs.
Nothing feels like a hug from my daughter. It is full-bodied and so powerful it reaches down to my soul. It reminds me who I am, and cements the deepest, most significant relationship I have ever had.
I have been a father to my daughter longer than I was a son to my mother.
It is a touching relationship.
Now I know, right now, there are people who have gone just as long (or longer) without true contact with loved ones. I know there are people who live closer than we do, and they too have been unable to share a hug, a meal, or time with the significant people in their lives.
I feel for them.
Human beings are social creatures, meant to have contact with one another, and for a year now we haven’t been able to interact with people as it was meant to be: as it should be.
This virus continues to change the way we live our lives. I’m not sure how much longer this will last, or how I will continue to handle it.
Last fall, when we thought it might have been possible, I almost drove to see my daughter. It would take a couple of days, but I hadn’t really been anywhere for months and, let’s face it, I’d drive anywhere for a hug from her.
But, it really wasn’t safe to do so. COVID-19 cases, then, were on the uptick there and they weren’t getting any lower here. And we had to think about all those other people, and how this virus was being spread, and how we couldn’t chance it.
I would not want to knowingly spread this virus, especially to her.
So I stayed home.
And I’ve been here for a year without seeing my daughter face to face.
We still talk and text. We keep in touch, its what we do, but I could really use a hug.
I spoke with her yesterday. We talked about how long it had been, but more about how we knew we would again see each other when all of this is over.
We just don’t know when that will be.
That is the uncertainty of this pandemic. That might be the loneliest thing of all.

A small space in

this magnificent sky, a

larger reason to question

why. Each rotation, every

phase, a penetrating

influence upon our days.

Full. Complete range of

motion, maximum emotion.

With whom will you share

this intense devotion?

The Moon speaks when

the moment is right,

find your way to

talk back to the night.

j.g.l.

Politics: I was silent on the topic for 20 days.
I made a choice, about 27 days ago, and it was a difficult 20 days; which is much like saying it was, up to a week ago, a difficult year.
Up until last Wednesday, I hadn’t written about politics or politicians here, or in my journal, all month (all year sounds even longer). It has been damn tough.
Often, or with some frequency, I use this space or any of my social media options to vent. In my journals I will regularly use the pages to let out my anger, or contempt, or utter disappointment. I think it helps, I think it gives my negative thoughts a place to go, but with ever increasing frequency over the past couple of years it became too much.
Commenting on a politician’s doings or decisions is like aiming for the lowest common denominator. They are always saying something.
Politicians as a whole, or as a species, are a ruthless lot. Opportunists all, each move they make, each promise they break, each rule they bend is done mainly with one thing in mind: to get reelected.
It is shameless, self-serving, and self-righteous.
I’ve spent too much time in too many rooms with too many politicians in my years as a newspaper reporter. From school board trustee or city councilor to opposition leader and prime minister after prime minister after prime minister, I’ve spent many years and column inches getting under a politician’s skin (locally, municipally, provincially and federally).
And they, over an even longer period of time, have often got under mine.
Last week, despite my resolve, it got to me. Our provincial premiere was out there flapping his jowls and threatening physical harm to another human being. The man’s tough talk, his one-liners or attempts are humour, cannot be taken seriously. Neither can the man himself.
He is not alone. I can list several provincial leaders in this country who have more than a habit of acting like idiots. It goes past political stripe. It’s like a virus.
It’s been decades since my country had a true statesman as a leader, and certainly a few years since the United States could say the same thing. I’m not even sure if last week’s change in administration can be qualified as good, but I’m not (in this case) going to argue with change.
I’m just going to try and not write about it.