You remember what it was like
in the early days—
when restaurants sent food
and churches dropped off
care packages
Everyone said thank you
& sometimes clapped
and even when the waves
of patients crashed
into your emergency room,
you were able to breathe
Now, you’re so weary,
that when it begins again,
you can hardly muster
energy to care as
your vaccine antibodies
engage in combat with
the squadron of medications
you consume in order to control
your autoimmune disease &
you hope the antibodies win
because you’re placing
breathing tubes
into eager airways again &
when your friends
don’t get vaccinated,
you take it personally & you
know this isn’t about you,
but you’re spent, nothing’s
left & you don’t think
you can watch
people die alone again
while you hold their iPhones as
they gasp good bye
You stop kissing your children
for a little while & you also
update your will
But on your days off,
you take long hikes and
walk the ridge
where butterflies flit
among the milkweed blossoms
You kneel beside a monarch
& pray that your vaccine holds
as you rest in the shadow
of its stained glass wings