The following poem, titled “SINCE,” was written by a dear friend in the aftermath of September 11, 2001. Since then, that poem’s seen a lot. Been around a few blocks. Written for one, it has adapted and spoken to many other significant events.

In its first iteration, a few years after 9/11, my friend, the poet, entered a new decade of her life and retitled the poem: OLD AGE. Same words, different take.

Still later, in 2014, as The Mister and I were moving, again, she sent it to me as food for thought, with its appropriate new title: MOVING.

As I read the poem last week, for the umpteenth time, I realized its power for our lives in a coronovirus world. I asked her permission to use it here today. In agreeing that I could, she has retitled it for the fourth time: PANDEMIC. I hope you’ll appreciate it as much as I do.

We have moved

to a new house

in a strange city.

The usual routes feel

out of place;

where do we journey

in this space?

The rooms in our psyches

are filled with new belongings –

Apprehension and Sadness

are pushed against the wall,

on top of each are set

Faith and Prayer,

but we cannot yet

walk around in the dark

without bumping into

their sharp corners.

Settling in will take time,

and, oh,

there is such deep

homesickness and longing for


Adele Droste Good

Bloggers note: Another good friend and poet taught me to read some poems by pausing at the end of each line, whether or not there’s a period. For some reason, it makes the poem just that much stronger and more personal. Don’t know why. Just try it and see what happens.