Corona Pt. 6

Turn the Tide

A pile of plastic floats in the ocean,
Human garbage collecting in the water.
We only contributed an iota–it was minuscule what we shed–
But the tide will roll over us all.

Coronavirus–we didn’t start it.
But it’s been churning,
And as we’re learning,
Its waves will wash over us all.

Is it too much to hope that a society racked by coronavirus–
That economies toppled–could be rebuilt in a way
Where we don’t have to sell each other as many “disposable” goods?
Where renewable energy sources reduce our carbon footprint from a polar bear’s to a kitten’s paw?

A Green New Deal has already been written
by skies that choke on emissions
by waterways that gag on waste
by fish that eat our plastic bit by bit
by trees that have been fell
by forests that have burned due to extreme temperatures
by humans who have died during heatwaves
by coral reefs that sit silent as cemeteries
by species that are endangered or extinct
by land animals who’ve been displaced
by humans who’ve been forced to migrate
by conflicts that will escalate as temperatures rise.

I’ve never heard it called “the happy ending of the commons,”
But maybe it could be
If we can turn the tide for us all.

A new coronavirus poem–this one in honor of Earth Day.

When the outbreak started, I hoped it might provide an opportunity for humanity to come together and unite not only against coronavirus but also in the fight against climate change. I’ve hesitated to express this opinion because of the toll that coronavirus is taking both economically and in lives lost.

But if I’ve learned anything from history, it’s that ruthless ideologies can take hold in the wake of devastation and declaring these ideologies inhumane is not enough to stop their spread.

For those of us who want to ensure the future of the planet and who are concerned with the inequalities that climate change will aggravate further, we have to know: What are the ideas that we will rally behind? What changes to society will we champion? What sacrifices are we willing to make in a time where so much is already being sacrificed?

Corona Pt. 5

Napoleon Touched a Bubo

Esteemed among the sick and dying,
A sash around your waist, a bright feathered cap,
A dashing uniform unsmudged by the smoke you made of Jaffa.

You touch the bubo of a brave soldier with your bare hand
While behind you your inferior officer clutches a scarf to his mouth.
He must not know, as you would say, that moral courage was the surest protection against plague.

He must not know of the greatness that shields you.

You would not order the slaughter of thousands of prisoners of war.
You would not poison your own sick and dying troops upon retreat.
Surely this painting could not be of a man capable of such savage acts.

Propaganda is nothing new.
They’ve been doing it since Napoleon touched a bubo (allegedly).

Antoine-Jean Gros. Bonaparte Visiting the Victims of the Plague at Jaffa. 1804.

So this is another piece inspired by my Surrealist Writing class. It’s an ekphrastic poem–that is a poem inspired by a work of art.

This painting hangs in the Louvre in the large hall of giant French paintings–like giant size wise but also in their significance in capturing key moments in French history (e.g., Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People hangs there). This particular painting was commissioned by Napoleon and exhibited at the Salon in Paris right before his coronation as emperor. As my poem implies, accounts suggest that the painting was made to dispel rumors that Napoleon had done some not so great things at Jaffa during his Egyptian campaign.

Studying art at the Louvre this summer reminded me how history is shaped by the hands of those whose accounts survive–it’s not a direct observable fact for us living in the present. It’s a story told to us. There are first hand accounts of Napoleon visiting the plague victims at Jaffa, but later historians question whether these meetings happened–how close Napoleon came into contact with his suffering soldiers.

This painting stands out to me now as we are dealing with our own plague like moment. Some things have been mishandled, and there’s a lot of finger pointing and shifting the blame. The information we’re receiving in the present about what will surely be a major historical event is being filtered through different perspectives: politicians, journalists, opinion writers, Facebook statuses of friends, popular memes on Imgur, late night comedy shows being taped at comedian’s houses. One would hope we could more easily identify the facts and truth of the present than we can going back hundreds of years in history, but with all these competing voices, sometimes its difficult to find the sound.

What is the truth of this bleak moment? Do what you can to know it.

Corona Pt. 4

Mixed Up Headlines – April 7, 2020

I just need the Comfort, the U.S.N.S. Comfort.
Here’s why.
Life is a health crisis–a full blown pandemic.
Small businesses toll hospitalizations
Even the latest setback has the virus.
Alarming rates of infection turned out to vote in Wisconsin.
Lives resigned over response to outbreak.
A ‘Liberty Rebellion’ makes an endless winter.
Normal life is a distant dream.

Inspired by a Surrealist writing class I just completed through Emory’s continuing education program, this week’s poem is a mash up of words from headlines on the New York Times website displayed April 7th. I’ve also done poems for April 8th & 9th that I’m not displaying here. Because one is depressing enough.

Corona Pt. 3

April Tragedies

April has been a dismal month
Ever since the Titanic sank
Between two continents.

Or perhaps it was sooner.

For April ushered in the Civil War,
Which lasted five Aprils–over 620,000 soldiers dead–
When Lee surrendered at a house in Appomattox Court House.
Lincoln was shot days later–in April of course–
Assassinated like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. who
Died for liberty on the Fourth (of April).

April showers have brought mass shootings (Columbine, Virginia Tech),
Mass bombings (Oklahoma City, Boston Marathon),
A massive oil spill off the Gulf Coast (Deepwater Horizon),
And a massive earthquake (1906 San Francisco).

The Notre Dame burned in April of last year
And the world watched history fall to ash
Unaware of the history we’d be making
April of this year
When tragedy found a way to shake off
Its geographic straight jacket.

I’m taking April day by day and so far I’m through almost two of them.

Corona Pt. 2

We woke to birdsong–we did our part
Staying apart.
What struck was tragedy
Disguised as inconvenience.

We gave each other calls,
Sent texts, reached out.
Believing, disbelieving
This could be the end.

In our houses, we got busy!
Fearing idleness
More than isolation.
Oh, the things we would accomplish
As long as we didn’t succumb.

We swam in information.
Digital graphs with variable inputs
Forecasting doom under various circumstances.
We compared mountains to plateaus
And wondered if we’d ever visit Utah.

Doctors, nurses, grocery store clerks became heroes.
The first two we hoped never to meet.
The third did not sign up for this.

It couldn’t be us. It might be us.

Meanwhile in Washington
Opinion writers feasted on partisan bickering
While experts stood ready to grab the mic.

Stocks soared and fell like
High divers in the postponed summer Olympics.
Jobs were lost
Like our hope that we’d conquered infectious disease.

The Earth breathed.
Crickets drank night air.
Sleep wore us out like an empty bucket.

We almost knew we’d make it through.

Corona

Tucked inside a HEPA filter.
Suspended in hand sanitizer
Thick like amniotic fluid,
A full grown woman in a fetal sack.

Behind a protective plastic barrier,
A room stocked with bleach wipes
Where everything opens automatically
And hands sit idle.

Exchanging significant glances rather
Than handshakes.
And “Go the F*** home” for “God bless you”
When a cough rips the air.

A stockpile of soup and dried beans
And hope–that a humanity threatened
By a virus crowned king
Can take on our most significant challenges.

I wrote this poem last Tuesday, March 10th.

I went shopping last Wednesday, March 11th, thinking I should probably stock up a bit just to be safe.

Thursday, March 12th, was the day I spent home spiraling down the news vortex–plunged into fear as more and more closures and emergency measures were announced. That day the stores in Atlanta were thrown into chaos with items torn from the shelves and staples depleted.

I had to go shopping again this past Tuesday, March 17th, which I did with much trepidation, trying to keep a wide distance from other customers while navigating aisles full of employees restocking and filling grocery pick up orders. People were wearing masks and gloves. I had only my little bottle of hand sanitizer that I used like vial of holy water–sending up a prayer and rubbing my hands together every time I had to touch a handle or another customer came too near.

I once won a bottle of holy water for finishing first in a 6th grade spelling bee (incidentally this was the day I discovered I was actually pretty intelligent). The bottle was from Our Lady of Lourdes shrine in France, which news reports suggest is closed now for the first time in its history.

I placed the bottle in my personal shrine to Mary, which sat atop the bookshelf in my room. The holy water was only used once–I gave it to my grandmother when she was in the hospital to help heal her. She recovered then but has passed since–a long time ago now.

My grandmother, who I called Grammy, liked to tell me when I was worried that “the world will keep spinning on its axis.”

Which is true, but life sure does feel strange and foreboding right now so I’m going to worry for a little while longer.