post_pandemic_life raze "you have to bend your legs if you want to swing higher," her older sister tells her. "oh," she says. she tries. but her body won't do what she wants it to. "i won't be able to do that until i'm six, seven, or eight," she says. her mother's busy texting. her aunt stands behind her, making sure she doesn't fall. "i'm getting older soon," the girl says. "when's your birthday?" her aunt asks. "july 7, 2016." "2016. that was a good year. before the nightmare started." the girl smiles and says, "i know. i learned about that when i was five." she's still five. but in her mind it's summer already, and she's closer than she's ever been to the person she's going to grow into. she's getting taller. her hair's getting longer. she's starting to remember her dreams. the wind batters her face with the brown thread her mother stitched into her skin before she was born. two light aircrafts soar above the swing set — conjoined twins torching the sky with their flaxen fuselage and single-engine groans. she throws her head back, bends her legs, and finds the strength to join them. 220416 ... past i took the baby for a walk this afternoon to get her to nap. she's been struggling this past week, with both her brothers home. the eldest with covid, the rest of the family somehow uninfected. our easter plans, full of hope, were cancelled of course. this house that has space for the horde if only for a few hours remained relatively empty. no point getting others sick after so many missed gatherings over the past two years. on the walk we saw many other negotiations unfolding. certainly more than a few households were in similiar situations as us, in technical isolation but maybe probing the borders of the rules (i am technically free to go about as i please, she will be so tomorrow. a walk the two of us is low risk.) but then there were outdoor dinners (guests bundled up sometimes in masks, sometimes not. sometimes close to each other, sometimes distancing). there were apparent indoor groups -- full driveways and street parking (occasionally glimpses in window showed masked faces, usually not). the powers that be have declared the pandemic over, but we all trundle through in our own ways, each person and household and family in constant negotiation over what that means. 220417 what's it to you? who go blather from