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I wrote these poems in mid-March, when fear of COVID-19 struck and New York City locked down. Nearly a half-year later, the impact continues with uncertainty everywhere.

Before and After

Before – there were trees,

I hardly noticed them.

There were buses and newspapers.

Should I read a book or the Post?

Am I wasting time looking

out the window at crowds

milling into Central Park?

The tourists walk to Strawberry Fields,

and the bus turns to Central Park West.

I hardly noticed

because I had plans.

After – it ended, first slowly,

then abruptly. We sat together

in the shop, knitting,

only three of us

before the store shut.

After that –

In the park daffodils radiate gold

and grow in groups.

And the magnolia trees

flaunt their succulent petals.

The fragile cherry blossoms float flowers

Still – it is after

And before, there were trees

I hardly noticed.
 

War Means Nothing to Them

The birds and the trees know nothing.

They are not embarrassed.

The birds chirp, the trees flower;

War means nothing to them.

Grass grows thick and green,

welcomes the spring.

Babies too, even toddlers,

go about their infant business.

They play or coo or smile

as happy as the birds, the trees,

the grass, flush with life.

Dr. Ruth Cohen

Dr. Cohen is in private practice and is a clinical assistant professor of psychiatry at Weill Cornell Medical Center of New York-Presbyterian Hospital, and psychiatric consultant at the Hospital for Special Surgery, also in New York.

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I wrote these poems in mid-March, when fear of COVID-19 struck and New York City locked down. Nearly a half-year later, the impact continues with uncertainty everywhere.

Before and After

Before – there were trees,

I hardly noticed them.

There were buses and newspapers.

Should I read a book or the Post?

Am I wasting time looking

out the window at crowds

milling into Central Park?

The tourists walk to Strawberry Fields,

and the bus turns to Central Park West.

I hardly noticed

because I had plans.

After – it ended, first slowly,

then abruptly. We sat together

in the shop, knitting,

only three of us

before the store shut.

After that –

In the park daffodils radiate gold

and grow in groups.

And the magnolia trees

flaunt their succulent petals.

The fragile cherry blossoms float flowers

Still – it is after

And before, there were trees

I hardly noticed.
 

War Means Nothing to Them

The birds and the trees know nothing.

They are not embarrassed.

The birds chirp, the trees flower;

War means nothing to them.

Grass grows thick and green,

welcomes the spring.

Babies too, even toddlers,

go about their infant business.

They play or coo or smile

as happy as the birds, the trees,

the grass, flush with life.

Dr. Ruth Cohen

Dr. Cohen is in private practice and is a clinical assistant professor of psychiatry at Weill Cornell Medical Center of New York-Presbyterian Hospital, and psychiatric consultant at the Hospital for Special Surgery, also in New York.

I wrote these poems in mid-March, when fear of COVID-19 struck and New York City locked down. Nearly a half-year later, the impact continues with uncertainty everywhere.

Before and After

Before – there were trees,

I hardly noticed them.

There were buses and newspapers.

Should I read a book or the Post?

Am I wasting time looking

out the window at crowds

milling into Central Park?

The tourists walk to Strawberry Fields,

and the bus turns to Central Park West.

I hardly noticed

because I had plans.

After – it ended, first slowly,

then abruptly. We sat together

in the shop, knitting,

only three of us

before the store shut.

After that –

In the park daffodils radiate gold

and grow in groups.

And the magnolia trees

flaunt their succulent petals.

The fragile cherry blossoms float flowers

Still – it is after

And before, there were trees

I hardly noticed.
 

War Means Nothing to Them

The birds and the trees know nothing.

They are not embarrassed.

The birds chirp, the trees flower;

War means nothing to them.

Grass grows thick and green,

welcomes the spring.

Babies too, even toddlers,

go about their infant business.

They play or coo or smile

as happy as the birds, the trees,

the grass, flush with life.

Dr. Ruth Cohen

Dr. Cohen is in private practice and is a clinical assistant professor of psychiatry at Weill Cornell Medical Center of New York-Presbyterian Hospital, and psychiatric consultant at the Hospital for Special Surgery, also in New York.

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