When a lover proclaims “It’s over,”
we grit teeth, take a deep breath,
stumble off,
cry quietly nightly,
daily,
week after month,
going on years.
When a President proclaims “The war is over,”
we scream our joy, fling confetti,
then breathe deeply
in solemn relief.
But when a President, CEO,
or CDC proclaims, “The pandemic is over,”
or “The map of risk transformed magically,
overnight,
from red to green,”
we mask up,
try not to breathe
in the presence of others,
prepare to mourn.