My City in the Time of COVID

I love random walks in forests made of pavement and shops. There is wonder to be found—and reimagined in ink—in spots where the wildest creature is human. But people watching while wandering New York City streets is not the safest of pleasures, in the time of COVID. Still, on cool days when my hospital dates end before the sun settles for the night, I delight in sightseeing The Bronx.

My city is an un-stilled picture of our never-ending fight for social justice,

a crystal canvas where we write and paint our brightest thoughts and feels.

My city is a haunting glimpse into doing what one can to survive—

some of the doing is splattered with feathers, rotting mud, and fouler things.

In the wilderness of bricks and hopes that is my city, zinnias bloom.

reflection
of disquieting times,
my city

for Poets and Storytellers United (Writers’ Pantry #39: Plums and feathers).

 

Post-apocalyptic Fiction Wasn’t Always Current Events

In the old days, customers were becoming
store scum, leaving a thin thread of thick hatred,
virtually dueling for toilet paper.

In the old days, random kindness
spread like a needed plague, infecting
friends and strangers, reclaiming humanity.

Post-apocalyptic fiction is now current events.

Yesterday’s News, by Shelle Kennedy

- the title and the last line of this Sevenling (thank you, Ron.! And you were right about the addictive properties of the form) came from a meme the NYC Public Library sent at the beginning of the pandemic—I guess if was sort of funny… way back then.

- for Poets and Storytellers United (Weekly Scribblings #21: Anagrams. Where a stunning [and rather modest] hostess invites everyone to write new poetry or prose using anagrams—a word, phrase, or sentence formed from another by rearranging its letters. I chose customers/store scum and hatred/thread.

The Bedside Song

“And all the winds go sighing,

for sweet things dying.”

 – Christina Rossetti

“Your heart breaks and breaks, when you have to be the one calling someone to let them know they should speak to their loved one on the phone before they go on a ventilator. In the air, the unspoken words always scream, “Tell them that you love them. You might not get another chance. And love should be known.” – Grief Counselor

Seemingly empty

bedsides are kept full by hearts,

singing, You are loved,

you are loved, you are so loved,

and you will forever be.

The Death of Lady MacBeth, by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

for Poets and Storytellers United (Weekly Scribblings #20: Undoubtedly Rossetti)

Ungrateful A-holes

I stood in line in front of the hospital, doing my best to stay six feet away from someone who felt the need to scream into their phone. I was listening to a book, so ignoring the noise wasn’t difficult. Then the phrase, “useless pricks handing out masks and sanitizer” pulled me out of the story.

Caught off guard by the speaker’s lack of respect for people risking their health and lives so that we risk our own a bit less, I found myself facing the person, and saying, “Wow!” very loudly (I blame my loudness on my headphones *cough*).

The person ended the call and took a couple of steps towards me. Her face was flushed. For an insane second, I thought I was about to get punched right in the face mask. But no, the individual simply said, “I know, right?” and went on to explain why the hospital staff screening patients at the door were a “plague of useless, socialists getting in the way of things.”

I looked past the speaker, stared at the nurse taking people’s temperatures, and said, “The world is just full of useless and ungrateful assholes.” The person actually nodded, as if I were agreeing with them (Some people’s children!).

The nurse didn’t smile or wink, but I think her eyes softened above her mask.

  via

for Poets and Storytellers United (Writers’ Pantry #20: A Name by Any Other Name Can Be… Confusing)

Knowing Love in the Time of COVID-19

A month or so ago, I read an article that said “YOU are your safest sex partner”. My first thought was, Sure, especially if you’re hygienic about it. After a few chuckles (what can I say? I have the sexual humor of a hormonally overactive teenager) and further reading, that proved the article was not a joke, I began to think, I guess they might be on to something.

Then, my eyes glimpsed the headline, “Masturbation is all the rage in New York City through the coronavirus pandemic”, imagined the expressions the statement would put on some faces I know, and I began forwarding the link while laughing like a maniac. The poem bits that follow were inspired by my more serious reaction to the wonderful piece of pandemic street art accompanying the article.

via

Love

knows barriers

can’t stop knowing

what true love feels

like.

true love knows

barriers can’t stop

us loving

our love knows

barriers can’t stop

knowing love

for Poets and Storytellers United (Weekly Scribblings #18: Art (and turmoil, it seems) Begets Art, birth words inspired by Pandemic Street Art from around the world)