Contributed by Jessica Lea.

P is for poetry, my current passion. But, of course, P also stands for PANDEMIC. Which I don’t want to write about…but how can it be avoided? Worlds turned upside down – or inside (not out).

Everywhere I turn, there it is. An infestation tainting art, music, poetry. News. I am just so tired and want to escape, read my books about the fae and dream about hiding in a forest wearing these incredible handcrafted shoes I can order from Australia that look like leaves.

My seven-year-old daughter and I are roommates now because she can’t fall asleep, stay asleep, or have a good night’s sleep without waking with nightmares. I am in an alternative universe – the separation of work and home gone replaced by four furry co-workers and two students. Everything is in slow motion. And I don’t have extra time on my hands – just extra responsibilities. And anxiety.

Former in person meetings and classes are now on Zoom. All screens flash with free art and writing classes, museum and zoo tours, authors reading their work. Expectations that we artists should be (even more) productive proportionate to the increase in free time due to being “stuck” at home. So many options to spend this elusive increase in time being creative that it is completely overwhelming.

It’s National Poetry Month and I had a very serious goal to write at least one poem. Every. Single. Day. Newsflash: goals may not reflect reality despite the encouragement and good intentions of books, blogs, social media, email lists, and meditation apps. I am not helping to pave that road.

So, I have done some things. Maybe not as much as I expected or pressured myself to. I am enough. I am going to go at my own pace – and this is your permission to go at yours.