I forgive you; powerful words.
   The sign on the outside of an Italian restaurant across the street from my downtown Toronto condo shook me with its honesty.
   Apparently, in the dark hours over one of the past couple of nights, someone decided to break the windows of this small Italian kitchen.
   It was just another act of senseless vandalism.
   The space now secured by plywood, the restaurant owner took a marker and spelled out his frustrations:

To the guy who thought it would be
cool to break my windows the other night
I’m not sure what you are gong through maybe
you’re feeling down and out or you were just
having a bad day. I forgive you. We are all struggling
I’ve questioned everything the past few months. You are
not alone. We are all in this together.
Love & peace                   #stay strong

   The restaurateur is a guy just trying to make a buck, just a guy trying to survive or make his way through these pandemic days.
   For months, restaurants in Toronto have only been open for take-out and delivery. Recently patio service was allowed, but with distance restrictions. On Friday, indoor seating will open up with health and space restrictions.
   Some of these places have been struggling for more than four months while others have not bothered to open or have simply given up.
   Who can blame them?
   Wherever you are, you know what these past few months have been like.  Whether mom and pop operations, huge corporate franchises, or street corner coffee stops, entire organizations are faltering.
   Nobody, anywhere, has any idea just how bad the economic fallout from this virus will be (globally, nationally, or locally), but we know it’s not a pretty picture and it will take a long time before it gets better.
   What we can do is support the businesses we can, when we can.
   I know where I’ll be ordering my pasta this Friday night.

   Fusaro’s on Richmond St. East.

What can we do as we no longer touch?

When the handshake offers danger, and even a first bump comes too close, how can we — in this period of physical distancing — mark an occasion or relationship while we try to stay apart for safety sake?

Even a smile has lost its power as those of us who are COVID-19 cautious, courteous, and correct now shield their face with a mask of some sort (and if you are not, you should be).

And in this world (perhaps now more than ever) a wink carries certain undertones, while a nod is unnoticeable or not nearly enough.

I think its time to bring the peace sign back into favour.

The peace sign is easy. It says more than a wave, displays greater optimism than a simple thumbs up, and is there a better greeting, salutation or sign off than wishing somebody peace? I think not.

Peace: is there a better word? Couldn’t this planet use more peace?

I learned to flip the peace sign in the late sixties. To me, it came at a time when things were far out and cool. I saw it on television, if I remember correctly; perhaps during television coverage of the hippies and the flower children, or Woodstock, or from the media photos of John Lennon, Janis Joplin or Jimi Henrix. Peace out.

Everyone, at that time, was doing it, it seemed. Even the kids on my street, all of us under 10 and wondering, not knowing what it meant or anything about a counterculture, but if The Monkees were doing it, it was “cool” with us.

It should be now. Again.

Of course, we learned from our moms, dads, dads or teachers that the V symbol of palm out, two fingers up also meant victory, but it seemed we wanted to give peace a chance.

Decades later, I still do.

Peace.

 

Once a field, now a park,
once a sapling. Now a tree we only notice
when we want to.

Through years and decades; centuries
this city has grown around it, sucking up
its precious oxygen.

Burly limbs stretch out to shelter
in rains, shade from a sun growing
hotter each day .

Through years, decades, and centuries.
We notice only when
we want to.

© 2020 j.g.l.

   Summer doesn’t speak;
it whispers a conscious melody
to high-heeled fashionistas with open toes,
sunburnt brats with runny noses, and
old men who know
evening air is sweeter
when dusk has had its way.     Humidity.
Sweat of the glass,
                               Tanqueray and tonic
will take away the pain,
Mosquito bites, lonely nights
sitting on an ever- creaky veranda,
Dinah Washington crackles from the speaker.

Suddenly you appear. . .

   Any other day
flowers stand taller, like
the younger women strolling by,
getting younger by the day.
Watch them
                       and wipe
the perspiration from your brow;
the once-crisp handkerchief has
soaked up many nights of lustful thoughts.
Old men just grow older,
the meaning comes with age.     Humility.
Summer lasts as long
as a savings account wastefully spent.

Then you are gone. . .

   Over time
most of the flowers will perish
well before first frost,
mostly from neglect.     Naturally.
We will all grow tired
of looking at them,
                                or forget the beauty.
Our minds go to other places.
Yet summer, in its capricious wisdom,
will breathe again
to those of us who will listen.
To young women
and older men.

© 2018 j.g. lewis

*selected lyrics from Invitation.
Written by Bronislaw Kaper/Paul Francis Webster,
the jazz standard was memorably recorded
by Dinah Washington in 1962. Has desire ever
been captured more sensually in a musical state?

We are, right now, captive in a moment where we are questioning everything we have known.
   All of us want answers.
   Too many of us have been isolated for too long. We now doubt everything from our faith to our practices, our governments, science, and each other; even those we are closest to.
   More so, we question ourselves and will continue to do so as long as this pandemic threat continues.
   We are tired of the distance. There is a gulf between what we used to know and all we can’t understand.
   We no longer trust. We can’t.
   We haven’t bottomed out (not yet), financially, morally, or spiritually but we don’t even know how close we are. We cannot know how deep this well runs, nor can we feel how empty it is.
   We have lost touch.
   We lack human contact. We are tired of looking at everything from a distance.   We have lost perspective.
   We have grown tired of waiting. We are tired of wanting.
Each of us is questioning where we are, what we have, and when we will get out of this mess.
   There is no answer. Sadly, we wouldn’t believe it if there were.
   Nothing is normal.
   When will this end?
   Will we go back to the way things once were?
   Do we go back to what we were doing (can we go back) or will we allow our thoughts to wander. Can we wonder?
   Can we still dream?
   Are our dreams relevant? Are there some dreams we’ve held onto which can no longer be salvaged?
   I have no answers.
   I have no more questions than the next human. My voice is restricted to what I know, and I’m not even sure if there is value in knowing any more.
   I no longer understand.