Soft Emergence

I have no idea what it will be like

to hug people again, to be close,
to look them in the eye
without a screen between us,
to see their smile — in real time.

I can’t imagine
eating out of the same bowl —
taking a handful of nuts
that others have touched,
buying food without washing it,
not seeing people
as carriers of disease,
not scrubbing down
everything in sight.

When this is over
will my cells jump for joy?
Will I come out okay?
Or will there be dark holes
that linger,
the scent of rubbing alcohol
bringing it all back?

I wonder if my heart
will explode when the veil lifts.
Or will there be
a soft emergence,
one foot put slowly
in front of the other,
not too far, not too fast,
like toes dipping into a cold stream,
and pace my arrival gently
into the new world —
whenever that may be.