The Quarantine Poem

 
Queen Mary had felt the same way
All alone
Trapped,
In Fotheringay
She knew the same moon  
She knew the cherries  
And markets and crowds  
And the water-warped tune
She knew the stroke of a brush
a clock
Or of love
Calcified, fossilized
Where does she dream of?
I’d bet that its green
Like lowlands or shores
Close to the masses
No locks and no doors  
Where people float through
They come and they go
Stay for supper then sleep  
They tell her what they know
Of freedom and wind
Of tall Osage trees  
How crows play in storms
When they dance on the breeze
She’d listen and nod
And even interject
But when dawn breaks anew  
She’d know that they’ve left