I quarantine with thee in the depth and breadth and height of this house,
The square footage of which is not nearly enough
For feeling out of (your) sight when you need something
Though you are consistently unable to see that I am on the phone.
For the ends of (your) being threatens to be near, except for an ideal grace
Which, frankly, grows more elusive with each passing day of confinement.
I quarantine with thee despite the relentless amounts of cooking required
And every day’s most quiet need, which, for the love of God,
Is merely some basic level of privacy which ought be afforded an adult woman.
And I was listening to my audio book, and now have missed an important part
But in answer to your urgent question,
Yes, I did wipe down the counter with Clorox after we got take-out.
I quarantine with thee freely, despite the fact that
Men strive not only for right, as in Browning’s version, but to be right.
I quarantine with thee purely, though what Liz also failed to mention
Was that when they turn from praise it is so often to offer helpful suggestions.
I quarantine with thee with passion put to use now only on knitting needles
And on long walks on while on the phone to distant girlfriends,
For we know the realness of the struggle, and that this, too, shall pass.
I quarantine with thee with a love I seemed to lose
At exactly the moment I became imprisoned in this house that is also your office.
I quarantine with thee with the breath that, I realize now,
Might well reflect an unpleasant failure to have brushed my teeth today.
And if God choose, I shall but love thee again–ahem, excuse me–
I shall love thee better after quarantine.