Is hand washing a different kind of ritual?

Something that cleanses and redeems us from germs?

We don’t pretend that the belief comes between

The hoping to be safe and the doing

penance. We keep all the air we can hold.

Stocked up in our lungs, anticipating

cold in our wrists, deliberating

What to do when this is all over.

We keep what we took when it’s over.

The memories become artifacts in the libraries of our hearts.

There was nothing to do with the memories.

The flow of the tap water keeps us moving forward

and we leave it on. And you with a cup that you brought here from home:

when the wind picks up, do you feel afraid or do you love change?