I see You / Holding up the sign / standing in line / or in a crowd / loud and proud.
Those voluble cells which / lay softly atop the glass slide / compose the truth, compose the / cabalistic dialect of you and I
A courteous knock on the door / Followed by a confident entry / Quickly halted by an urgent cry
Yours is the name I carry on / You were the first I mourned when gone
20 / still / except / her chest rising, falling
The clock behind me ticks / As the seconds line up with the cicadas’ hiss, / I hear the children outside, and the cracks of sticks
As the door swings open, it hits the chair that was shifted more than usual. / Next to the computer sits a 94-year-old woman in a wheelchair / who is here for one last visit.
I’m 19, I was caught trespassing. / They said I was acting “unusual.” / No reason really.
A seedling, a baby — / the most vulnerable state. / Roots, placenta ground into mother — / wholly dependent on a magnificent caretaker.
I hope my classmates, communities, and I all dance far more often with health than sickness. I pray that soon the last hospital bed holds the last patient with COVID. I hope justice and truth prevail. I hope we hold onto what we carry: the love of friends and family, a resilience tried and true, bravery unbridled and faith that we will persevere among the challenges life affords. I hope that after long days of caring for others, we care for ourselves and call a friend, a loved one, a therapist — and remember how far we’ve come. We have been patients, and we will be patients, even as we care for patients.
I am sitting in school / but I am also thinking of you. / Yes, I do / wonder how consciousness / wraps round and round / this hunk of meat, / how chunks of flesh / sustain your metaphysical feat.
if we can just cling / and weather this weather, / we can make some things / much better and better.