In my afternoon nap
I thought I heard a car honk.
But then it could be any vehicle
Asking another to keep moving.
There was something about that sound
That kept clinging to me.
Could it be another messenger
Bringing another surprise
From friends who care?
Late in the day
My daughter sent a message.
My granddaughters
missed me
And they wanted to just pass by
And wave to me
From the car.
They did
Without seeing me.
That was what I felt
A day earlier.
To bring a box of pizza
And pass by their house
And just wave
From the gate.
We know
We can’t hug or kiss.
For fear of the virus
Lurking within any of us.
It never occurred to me
I would be reduced
To imagining them
Waving at me from the car
Only to disappear from a distance.
All of a sudden
They passed by another day
And I was in the garden.
Upon seeing me
I heard peals of joy
From the car.
I was stunned
To hear the youngest
Shout ‘I love you Papu’
And then look away
Because we can’t hug.
I used to bring them flowers
Or pick up a rose or two
From the garden
Before they headed for home.
I like this indescribable link
Between grandpas and granddaughters
Sharing a certain longing
In the anxious weeks
Of the pandemic.
They left so soon.
I looked at my potted plants
And saw sadness
In a form of a rose.
—Pablo A. Tariman