LOVE IN THE TIME OF CORONAVIRUS

I WRITE HAPPY in big capital letters—in pink chalk—over the faded image of the one-eyed monster I drew two nights before, when we were able to get ice cream, when we perused the toy aisle at the grocery store, when there was toilet paper to spare. I point to the word and say to my son, Bodhi, “This is the word of the day. Happy. H-A-P-P-Y.”

Bodhi is three and the world doesn’t make sense anymore. He doesn’t know why I’m not taking him to preschool. He doesn’t know why he can’t