In the past months I have limited my exposure to "breaking news", taking it in in smaller bites so I can process all of the important things that are happening, but do it at a more manageable pace as I navigate my own personal challenges. I have been writing privately a lot more, and while this is not a typical poetry/spoken word/rap scheme I have used before, it just came out this way. I felt like sharing it today for anyone who also is managing difficult feelings in creative ways. If any of you want to share what has been on your mind, I love seeing the poems I have been sent so far.
Prepare, don't panic,
-Allison
"Code Blue"
I spent my whole childhood dying and sighing and before I knew it, I was an adult wondering where I was and crying about what I did not, would not, understand,
We’re standing here, sitting there, lying where we never thought we’d be,
Now this virus creep-creep-creeping until it sees that potential new victim down the street because it’s had enough of its’ current sweet peach.
The invisible injury ricocheting off Jane Doe whose prattle never rattled the shackles holding her back, even when she said “Please, sir”—"Mam, you’re black," he informs her,
Jane and John, others under the bridge, were just the first to go, the last ones we’d miss until the opportunity came and death leapt from her to me with just a parting kiss.
I anxiously walk into the store unaware that the virus is already inside me, defenses laid bare,
I smile at the clerk, the guy who can’t possibly be the jerk he’s acting like he is just to keep him at work...away from a wife and a son he doesn’t want to expose, and so he goes: so he can pay the rent and has to stay composed when it’s my choice to be here but if it were his voice it would be clear that they are "CLOSED."
My fingers grip the bar on my red, plastic cart that some nurse will grab later trying to shop smart by coming after dark,
Coughing into my elbow, turning my body, knees bent low expectorating the fatal blow to a baby held by a mother moving unbeknownst in too-slow slow-mo,
His little blue eyes turn up to the sky like he already knows what it’s like to fly—and I hand his grateful mom my bottle of Lysol after seeing the shelf dry.
Gathering my stuff and things I go to check out, an older man with a tremor in his fingers says, “Its rough out there girl,” caressing a worn wedding ring,
I smile, shake his hand, take his reprimand and say “We will all do what we can,” not seeing the microscopic mission-driven assassins pass from me to him.
The bus ride is long and it’s just all so wrong to live in fear while politicians play ping-pong on whether we are in or out of doors for the short or the long haul,
Wash my hands, cover my face, when there is time and room, I count out my pace to stay properly spaced,
It isn’t until a week goes by, when my father starts to cry, and I hold his hand as we drive to the testing site,
Hemorrhaging from the heart while asking, hands clasped begging for band aids and masks, left gasping,
They say a zip code doesn’t define you, just a constant reminder of how undermined you really are…until…
Death doesn’t pay for postage, never needed to pick locks because we already opened our mailbox,
And they are us and we never wanted to believe it, that people like us get no reprieve while we act like it never could be us constantly under siege,
We are all just two tragedies from being thrown to the street ready to cut and serve up the fresh meat,
I wish there were a moral to the story other than think of other’s lives, not your own glory, none of our friends have “had it”, we are “all swell,” it makes it not my fault, why am I not feeling so well?
We social-distanced enough, right? I promise if I live, I will follow orders with no fight,
Was it the time I forgot my mask at home, went for coffee and savored that top layer of foam, while the virus continued to roam...untethered, unstopped, unchecked, because I wanted that last little bit of whipped cream just a fleck of a speck on my neck, but-
I heard the warnings, watched the news, I thought it was enough, but truth of the matter is this virus is tough and you can play by the rules and it's’ just lying in wait for a simple, small innocent mistake.
I cast my mind back as far as it can go and I see all the people that I’ve seen,
In the last two weeks when I thought that I was clean,
I wonder if I will see them sooner or later, which will be my fault, I know it’s true,
How many people have I really seen if my roommate saw a boyfriend, or maybe a few?
My fathers’ friends and neighbors, how far does it go, would a warning from me even help them know, we are not immune so...?
I guess the only true believers are within these sterile walls, wishing that they had recognized the siren’s call, and pray for those that come after, that maybe the ones we love might yet avoid this disaster,
The numbers roll through my head, cataloguing, indexing all those who might be dead,
Because I thought that I was good, I thought that I was right, but that live is scattered,
On a wind in the streets I hear the shouts that amount “Black Lives Matter!”
But it’s already slipping away as I pray and fall into my last day in the hospital bay.
I cast my mind to the time before I knew, I am shopping for my supplies…
“Code Blue.”
Comments