Guilt by Marilyn J. Simons

Outside my nest, people are dying. I see through the TV hospital crises, California wildfires, riots in cities, bombast in Washington. I turn it off and look out the window, at changing seasons, summer weather, autumn colors. I am not sick, and I feel guilty. My employment survives--I am luckier than many, and I feel guilty. I hunker down in my nest and try to do worthwhile things--housecleaning, long put off paperwork, the sorting of old things. But I feel guilty I am not making masks, for which I have no sewing talent anyway. I am stuck here.