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.