65 Church Street
We had a place for a year in Montclair, It was in tbe heart of the pandemic, Our shore place was rented, no refuge there, 'Twas 2020, year of polemic. It was a stud'io at 65 Church, It was the last home of my Aunt Pearl's bed, I climbed from Church to the ridge of pine and birch, The restaurants were lively, the church was dead. I floundered, it was my sabbatical, I took on the craziness of the year, My feelings turned toward the fanatical, I was lucky to have a safe space here. I'm thankful to Java Love and Montclair, My havens for pandemic self-care.