we talk about buying wetsuits
and surfing, all the things
said and never done, like
reading the Bible cover to cover
these stories journey with
us year after year like so many
unread Shakespeare plays, tragedy
our romantic viewpoint, these
lies we tell ourselves, all the
constellations never named, but
with luck we still see some light
in darkened sky, so when we
leave this earth, we don’t have
to ask, why? why?
is worried about the economy
and about the virus and
how the two are connected
about cruise ships that
sail sick people in their midst
and so, day after day
men in suits, women with lipstick
grin or frown into cameras, on
screens, talk about stocks
descending, and this goes on
and on, day after day, as we
watch quarantines, death counts
following along, witnessing
global pandemic with a smile
and a grimace
i found myself remembering
all the other feeble days
when time stood still, when
a single room, a single bed
was everything. Between
shivers and coughs, the
twilight space, sickness,
where body and mind journey
in dreams, but go nowhere.
This suffering carries with it
the magic of surrendering
to forces that determine
temperature and strength,
outside of human will and
control. And when this lasts
for night after night, a voice
calls out, don’t fight, don’t fight.
And when we give in
life always begins again.
we used to race caterpillars
up old oak trees, caterpillar
jockeys we were, holding our
sticks, prodding the slow
legged insects to move skyward
sometimes they listened to us
yelling their new names
come on Stripey, faster Laser
tickling bark, up they went or
they’d stop, no telling how it would
end, because the bell always rang
recess done, but they’d keep
climbing higher and higher, or
we imagined they did, ignoring
grammar, staring out windows
gazing to the tallest branches
baby butterflies, blue sky
Daniel W. Polk 