Antiviral Angel
We Are All Wuhan
Distancing
21st Century Plague Doctor
Coronavirus Cargo Cult
What burnt offerings, totems, armloads
of flowers shall we leave at the edge
of town to ward off the invisible
invader? With what sharp incense
of herbs and spices shall we perfume
the air, decontaminate? What vessels
of cleansing concoctions must stand
guard on the lip of every sink,
at the verge of every door? What hymns
must we sing as we perform
our ritual ablutions? What gloves,
masks, face shields, gowns of office
will suffice to scare off the foul
miasmas and evil spirits? What
hand signs, sigils, and talismans
will guarantee safe passage through
the corridors of commerce? What
ceremonies must be performed
before reentering the village,
approaching the hearth? Must we forever
stay indoors, applaud out of windows
thrust open at seven in the evening,
to praise the performance of healers
and tradesmen and warriors? Refrain
from humble exchanges of touch,
speak with stopped mouths, no longer
conspire to share a common air?
How long must we live at two arms’
lengths, refrain from assembling,
confine our protests to silent dispatches
into the imagined traffic of pulses
of photons? When will we know
that the magic has worked, that the gods
have come down where we placed
our offerings, and are proceeding
to purify, sterilize, wipe it all clean?
What burnt offerings, totems, armloads
of flowers shall we leave at the edge
of town to ward off the invisible
invader? With what sharp incense
of herbs and spices shall we perfume
the air, decontaminate? What vessels
of cleansing concoctions must stand
guard on the lip of every sink,
at the verge of every door? What hymns
must we sing as we perform
our ritual ablutions? What gloves,
masks, face shields, gowns of office
will suffice to scare off the foul
miasmas and evil spirits? What
hand signs, sigils, and talismans
will guarantee safe passage through
the corridors of commerce? What
ceremonies must be performed
before reentering the village,
approaching the hearth? Must we forever
stay indoors, applaud out of windows
thrust open at seven in the evening,
to praise the performance of healers
and tradesmen and warriors? Refrain
from humble exchanges of touch,
speak with stopped mouths, no longer
conspire to share a common air?
How long must we live at two arms’
lengths, refrain from assembling,
confine our protests to silent dispatches
into the imagined traffic of pulses
of photons? When will we know
that the magic has worked, that the gods
have come down where we placed
our offerings, and are proceeding
to purify, sterilize, wipe it all clean?
Grand Reopening
Biohazard Notice
Herd Immunity
Some Day
Get Your Mask On
The New Curriculum
I Miss Faces
The Garden of Privilege
|
Plague Summer
Not so difficult to wait out the plague, spinning yarns with friends idling about the courtyard in the shade of fruit trees, bird song overhead, hands occupied with cross stitching and lace making, writing poetry in the afternoon within the walled garden, peacocks strutting across the flagged patio, lute music gently carried on the breath of the moist breeze wafting in from the sea. We are secure in our small haven, removed from ordinary traffic, our air sweet and breathable, commerce brought to our gates by tradesmen muffled for our protection, coins dropped into jars of vinegar for mutual safety and respect. This is the sixth month of this round of the visitation. The houses of the city are emptied and boarded up, bedclothes and domestic appurtenances burned in a common pit, the corpses carried off in the wagons under cover of darkness, rolled into mass graves inside the churchyards without ceremony. It is easy and pleasant so far, just a different way to pass a long and sultry season. |
