The sun doesn’t know

there’s a Coronavirus.

He shows up daily –

not burning, but smiling,


If you listen, he tells you

he’ll be here tomorrow

and next week

and a thousand years from now.


The mustard flowers on the side of the road

don’t know about it.

It’s only early March and still, a few showers

and they’ve rushed out like an army.

They only wash their hands

of all the panic

and wait for rain.


My neighbors’ bougainvillea flowers

only know the fuchsia, shining,

of their sun-lit faces, mirrors

of our own amazing, healing light.

By Jane Marla Robbins