During the Pandemic, My Son Plays Minecraft
Sheltering in place, the world shrunk screen-sized,
my son builds himself a fortress, hunkers down, forgets
the days. He asks how strong is concrete versus hardened clay?
What we all want to know: what barriers will keep us safe.
He practices deciding what’s essential: beds, books,
gardens, treasure chests.
Contained, this is his most consistent solace: ever-
opening space, shafts he can fall into and down, so slowly;
guardians keeping watch like shepherds, something
almost Biblical about it.
His city shines into the darkness; my son dreams up
a small crowd, courtyard, stars.
my son builds himself a fortress, hunkers down, forgets
the days. He asks how strong is concrete versus hardened clay?
What we all want to know: what barriers will keep us safe.
He practices deciding what’s essential: beds, books,
gardens, treasure chests.
Contained, this is his most consistent solace: ever-
opening space, shafts he can fall into and down, so slowly;
guardians keeping watch like shepherds, something
almost Biblical about it.
His city shines into the darkness; my son dreams up
a small crowd, courtyard, stars.
Violeta Garcia-Mendoza is a Spanish-American poet, writer, and photographer. She is a member of Carlow University’s Madwomen in the Attic Writing Workshops and a reader for Split Rock Review/Press. Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and has recently appeared in Peatsmoke, The Dewdrop, and Saint Katherine Review. Violeta lives with her family in Western Pennsylvania.
Art: Blue Hedgehog, oil on paper, Paulina Swietliczko