© Nancy Adams, EdD, MLIS
Harrell Health Sciences Library and Department of Medical Education
The bottle: the focus
The grass: the field
What a weird ritual this is, you said
Glove, wipe, place, retreat;
Advance, retrieve, retreat again
Maintaining our distance
Disconnected connection
Eyes open, unseeing
Constant presence of absence
The bottle: the focus
The grass: the field
This poem was written shortly after April 3, 2020, when a friend delivered homemade limecello to me. The entire masked and socially distanced exchange was completely focused on the physical entity of the bottle itself and the dance of transferring the object from one to another, and when he left, it was as if he had never been there at all.