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If I had only known
Three days was nothing
Four weeks now notched on my belt of motherhood
Four weeks with a sick child, one at a time, usually on Thursdays
Falling not like dominoes but like patient drops from the tip of a stalactite

J.D. Fitzgerald’s mother was right
Close the boys in one room together until everyone catches it and gets it over with
Not this business of disinfecting wipes and painstaking hand washing
Prolonging the inevitable
Let Nature have her way

Twice now I have battled nausea and won
Lying flat on my back unable to move (for fear of Nature having her way)
Headache pounding
A Pyrrhic victory

Do people still go about?
Is there still work and school?
Goods still made? Shelves still stocked?

Once the shortest month,
February has stretched herself cat-like to her full length
Outpacing even gray blustery March.