Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

Civic Duty


Not long ago a man mailed 100 letters.
A message to each United States senator.
It cost him sixty-eight dollars and change.
But, with the fate of the nation at stake,
He considered it a patriotic investment.


Each letter was personalized and signed.
Every enveloped addressed by hand.
A gesture of respect for that august body.
Certainly not a special-interest robo-mailing.


He quoted some great Americans and noted that
Managing a representative republic is messy.
He said his civic duty required him to remind them
That an impeachment trial should be a real trial.


He politely and respectfully implored them
Both left and right, to do what they knew history
Would judge as being wise and true.
He felt that given the gravity of the circumstances,
They might appreciate his earnest petition.


Every one of the 100 letters went unanswered.
No senator could be bothered to acknowledge
The concerns of an active and engaged citizen.
The sound of those letters landing in wastebaskets,
Soft thuds of portent.


- Mark Telles

Day Dream

One day people will touch and talk perhaps easily,
And loving be natural as breathing and warm as sunlight,
And people will untie themselves, as string is unknotted,
Unfold and yawn and stretch and spread their fingers,
Unfurl, uncurl like seaweed returned to the sea,
And work will be simple and swift as a seagull flying,
And play will be casual and quiet as a seagull settling,
And the clocks will stop, and no one will wonder or care or notice,
And people will smile without reason, even in winter, even in the rain.

- A. S. J. Tessimond

Small Kindnesses


I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”


- Danusha Lameris

Nicely done! I wrote something with a similar sentiment, a couple years ago:
DRIVERS' SACRAMENT

The ancient Romans built shrines at crossroads, and then the life and death of Jesus further layered the archetype of the cross.

We continue to approach Intersections in a special way as we drive, observing a moment of awareness, acknowledging a common Center,
coming to a stop and quietly determining as one mind the order of going forth.

Once in awhile, a driver refuses this ritual, but mostly we join brothers and sisters at the wheel,
and there’s an authority to the way everyone knows how we should move on.

This is the way we need to live.
******
c 2018 from The Well At World's End by Max Reif, New Humanity Publications

Cataclysm


It begins subtly:
the maple
withdraws an inch from the birch tree.

.

The porcupine
wants nothing to do with the skink.

.

Fish unschool,
sheep unflock to separately graze.

.

Clouds meanwhile
declare to the sky
they have nothing to do with the sky,
which is not visible as they are,

.

nor knows the trick of turning
into infant, tumbling pterodactyls.

.

The turtles and moonlight?
Their long arrangement is over.

.

As for the humans.
Let us not speak of the humans.
Let us speak of their language.

.

The first person singular
condemns the second person plural
for betrayals neither has words left to name.

.

The fed consider the hungry
and stay silent.


- Jane Hirshfield

Passing Through
- on my seventy-ninth birthday


Nobody in the widow’s household
ever celebrated anniversaries.
In the secrecy of my room
I would not admit I cared
that my friends were given parties.
Before I left town for school
my birthday went up in smoke
in a fire at City Hall that gutted
the Department of Vital Statistics.
If it weren’t for a census report
of a five-year-old White Male
sharing my mother’s address
at the Green Street tenement in Worcester
I’d have no documentary proof
that I exist. You are the first,
my dear, to bully me
into these festive occasions.


Sometimes, you say, I wear
an abstracted look that drives you
up the wall, as though it signified
distress or disaffection.
Don’t take it so to heart.
Maybe I enjoy not-being as much
as being who I am. Maybe
it’s time for me to practice
growing old. The way I look
at it, I’m passing through a phase:
gradually I’m changing to a word.
Whatever you choose to claim
of me is always yours;
nothing is truly mine
except my name. I only
borrowed this dust.


- Stanley Kunitz

Daffodils



Each spring daffodils like a secret happiness
Are everywhere again as if they did not care
That the world is so messed up
Or are depressed by the tragedies of last year
We admonish the bright inquisitive faces.
Don’t you realize you are arriving in a drought
Global warming, even extinctions.
The next day even more daffodils crowd
The edges of fences, careen across a field.
They seem to lack a sense of trepidation
Or have self-esteem issues or are intimidated
By changes in weather or a hostile environment.
They are the loyal canines of the plant world
Assured that everyone is glad to see them,
Like your dog in whose eyes you know
You are loved more than you believe
Anyone could. We have to admit we have longed
To look into the eyes of flowers
To ask how they do it
So free to share with equanimity
Their finite beauty
Without hesitation
No questions asked, no disturbing borders.
I am your flower they say
You are my flower they say
We are here for you.
Springtime may just be
Humanity’s other
Best friend.


- Gail Onion

Ego Tripping (there may be a reason why)




I was born in the congo
I walked to the fertile crescent and built
the sphinx
I designed a pyramid so tough that a star
that only glows every one hundred years falls
into the center giving divine perfect light
I am bad


I sat on the throne
drinking nectar with allah
I got hot and sent an ice age to europe
to cool my thirst
My oldest daughter is nefertiti
the tears from my birth pains
created the nile
I am a beautiful woman


I gazed on the forest and burned
out the sahara desert
with a packet of goat's meat
and a change of clothes
I crossed it in two hours
I am a gazelle so swift
so swift you can't catch me


For a birthday present when he was three
I gave my son hannibal an elephant
He gave me rome for mother's day
My strength flows ever on


My son noah built new/ark and
I stood proudly at the helm
as we sailed on a soft summer day
I turned myself into myself and was
jesus
men intone my loving name
All praises All praises
I am the one who would save


I sowed diamonds in my back yard
My bowels deliver uranium
the filings from my fingernails are
semi-precious jewels
On a trip north
I caught a cold and blew
My nose giving oil to the arab world
I am so hip even my errors are correct
I sailed west to reach east and had to round off
the earth as I went
The hair from my head thinned and gold was laid
across three continents


I am so perfect so divine so ethereal so surreal
I cannot be comprehended
except by my permission


I mean . . . I . . . can fly
like a bird in the sky . . .


- Nikki Giovanni

If You’re Staying, I’ll Stay Too


Maybe it’s easier, having been named
after someone: nobody
expects that you’ll rule the underworld
or judge the dead, but
they call you Pluto anyway. Planet, too.
I know a girl like you
who used to be a thing she isn’t anymore
but hasn’t changed at all.
Whose orbit didn’t circle straight—whose
size & distance never quite
seemed right—but no one cared til now.
I was a woman once:
rounded by my own gravity, cat-called
into hades by men who
could not see this gem of a hard rock
was not made magnetic
for the likes of them. Hey little mama—
don’t take it so hard.
So we are frigid. So we stay relegated
out here with our kin.
I’ll wear my fade tight & my tie loose
if you play your radio loud.
They say we’re known only in comparison
to that which surrounds
us, so I’d guess they’ll hear our signal soon.
I was a woman once,
but that’s not the farthest thing from the sun
another universe might’ve
let me be: another universe might’ve let us be.


- Meg Day

Unrest in Baton Rouge

after the photo by Jonathan Bachman


Our bodies run with ink dark blood.
Blood pools in the pavement’s seams.

Is it strange to say love is a language
Few practice, but all, or near all speak?

Even the men in black armor, the ones
Jangling handcuffs and keys, what else

Are they so buffered against, if not love’s blade
Sizing up the heart’s familiar meat?

We watch and grieve. We sleep, stir, eat.
Love: the heart sliced open, gutted, clean.

Love: naked almost in the everlasting street,
Skirt lifted by a different kind of breeze.


- Tracy K. Smith

Everybody Knows

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IfmiKnZi3E

Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Everybody knows that the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich
That's how it goes
Everybody knows
Everybody knows that the boat is leaking
Everybody knows the captain lied
Everybody got this broken feeling
Like their father or their dog just died
Everybody talking to their pockets
Everybody wants a box of chocolates
And a long stem rose
Everybody knows
Everybody knows that you love me baby
Everybody knows that you really do
Everybody knows that you've been faithful
Ah give or take a night or two
Everybody knows you've been discreet
But there were so many people you just had to meet
Without your clothes
And everybody knows
Everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows
Everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows
And everybody knows that it's now or never
Everybody knows that it's me or you
And everybody knows that you live forever
Ah when you've done a line or two
Everybody knows the deal is rotten
Old Black Joe's still pickin' cotton
For your ribbons and bows
And everybody knows
And everybody knows that the Plague is coming
Everybody knows that it's moving fast
Everybody knows that the naked man and woman
Are just a shining artifact of the past
Everybody knows the scene is dead
But there's gonna be a meter on your bed
That will disclose
What everybody knows
And everybody knows that you're in trouble
Everybody knows what you've been through
From the bloody cross on top of Calvary
To the beach of Malibu
Everybody knows it's coming apart
Take one last look at this Sacred Heart
Before it blows
And everybody knows
Everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows
Oh everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows
Everybody knows

- Leonard Cohen

Wash your hands

like you are washing the only teacup left that your great grandmother
carried across the ocean, like you are washing the hair of a beloved who is
dying, like you are washing the feet of Grace Lee Boggs, Beyonce, Jesus,
your auntie, Audre Lorde, Mary Oliver- you get the picture.


Like this water is poured from a jug your best friend just carried for
three miles from the spring they had to climb a mountain to reach.
Like water is a precious resource
made from time and miracle

Wash your hands and cough into your elbow, they say.
Rest more, stay home, drink water, have some soup, they say.


To which I would add: burn some plants your ancestors burned when there was
fear in the air,
Boil some aromatic leaves in a pot on your stove until your windows steam
up.
Open your windows
Eat a piece of garlic every day. Tie a clove around your neck.
Breathe.

My friends, it is always true, these things.
It has already been time.


It is always true that we should move with care and intention, asking
Do you want to bump elbows instead? with everyone we meet.

It is always true that people are living with one lung, with immune systems
that don?t work so well, or perhaps work too hard, fighting against
themselves. It is already true that people are hoarding the things that the
most vulnerable need.
It is already time that we might want to fly on airplanes less and not go
to work when we are sick.


It is already time that we might want to know who in our neighborhood has
cancer, who has a new baby, who is old, with children in another state, who
has extra water, who has a root cellar, who is a nurse, who has a garden
full of elecampane and nettles.


It is already time that temporarily non-disabled people think about people
living with chronic illness and disabled folks, that young people think
about old people.
It is already time to stop using synthetic fragrances to not smell like
bodies, to pretend like we?re all not dying. It is already time to remember
that those scents make so many of us sick.


It is already time to not take it personally when someone doesn?t want to
hug you.
It is already time to slow down and feel how scared we are.

We are already afraid, we are already living in the time of fires.

When fear arises,
and it will,
let it wash over your whole body instead of staying curled up tight in your
shoulders.
If your heart tightens,
contract
and expand.
science says: compassion strengthens the immune system
We already know that, but capitalism gives us amnesia
and tricks us into thinking it?s the thing that protect us
but it?s the way we hold the thing.
The way we do the thing.

Those of us who have forgotten amuletic traditions,
we turn to hoarding hand sanitizer and masks.
we find someone to blame.
we think that will help.
want to blame something?
Blame capitalism. Blame patriarchy. Blame white supremacy.

It is already time to remember to hang garlic on our doors
to dip our handkerchiefs in thyme tea
to rub salt on our feet
to pray the rosary, kiss the mezuzah, cleanse with an egg.
In the middle of the night,
when you wake up with terror in your belly,
it is time to think about stardust and geological time
redwoods and dance parties and mushrooms remediating toxic soil.
it is time
to care for one another
to pray over water
to wash away fear
every time we wash our hands.

- Dori Midnight

Pandemic


What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.
And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.
Promise this world your love--
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.


- Lynn Ungar

"Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart."
:heart:

Panicdemic



That buzzing you hear

Getting louder louder

Clogging the mind

Irritating panic

You tell everyone

"I've had enough

I can't take it anymore"

Maybe just maybe

It's the sound of bees

Making honey

For your sweet starved soul


- David McNair

Instructions for the Honorable Harvest


Know the ways of the ones who take care of you, so that you may
take care of them.
Introduce yourself. Be accountable as the one who comes asking for life.
Ask permission before taking. Abide by the answer.
Never take the first. Never take the last.
Take only what you need.
Take only that which is given.
Never take more than half. Leave some for others.
Harvest in a way that minimizes harm.
Use it respectfully. Never waste what you have taken.
Share.
Give thanks for what you have been given.
Give a gift, in reciprocity for what you have taken.
Sustain the ones who sustain you and the earth will last forever.


- Robin Wall Kimmerer

Praise the Rain


Praise the rain, the seagull dive
The curl of plant, the raven talk—
Praise the hurt, the house slack
The stand of trees, the dignity—
Praise the dark, the moon cradle
The sky fall, the bear sleep—
Praise the mist, the warrior name
The earth eclipse, the fired leap—
Praise the backwards, upward sky
The baby cry, the spirit food—
Praise canoe, the fish rush
The hole for frog, the upside-down—
Praise the day, the cloud cup
The mind flat, forget it all—


Praise crazy. Praise sad.
Praise the path on which we’re led.
Praise the roads on earth and water.
Praise the eater and the eaten.
Praise beginnings; praise the end.
Praise the song and praise the singer.


Praise the rain; it brings more rain.
Praise the rain; it brings more rain.


- Joy Harjo

And the people stayed home.
And read books, and listened, and rested, and exercised, and made art,
and played games, and learned new ways of being, and were still.
And listened more deeply.
Some meditated, some prayed, some danced.
Some met their shadows.
And the people began to think differently.


And the people healed.
And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways,
the earth began to heal.


And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again,
they grieved their losses, and made new choices,
and dreamed new images,
and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully,
as they had been healed.


- Irene Vella


(translated from the Italian by Kitty O’Meara)

Quote:

---

Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson:

And the people stayed home.
And read books, and listened, and rested, and exercised, and made art,
and played games, and learned new ways of being, and were still.
And listened more deeply.
Some meditated, some prayed, some danced.
Some met their shadows.
And the people began to think differently.


And the people healed.
And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways,
the earth began to heal.


And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again,
they grieved their losses, and made new choices,
and dreamed new images,
and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully,
as they had been healed.


- Irene Vella


(translated from the Italian by Kitty O’Meara)

---

Beautiful... thanks for this, though it apparently was actually written by Kitty O'Meara:

In the Time of Pandemic
https://the-daily-round.com/2020/03/...e-of-pandemic/

More information - including link to what Vella actually wrote: https://www.oprahmag.com/entertainme...ara-interview/

Keeping Quiet

https://www.awakin.org/pics/weekly/2298.jpg

Now we will all count to twelve
and we will all keep still.


This one time upon the earth,
let’s not speak any language,
let’s stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.


It would be a delicious moment,
without hurry, without locomotives,
all of us would be together
in a sudden uneasiness.


The fisherman in the cold sea
would do no harm to the whales
and the peasant gathering salt
would look at his torn hands.


Those who prepare green wars,
wars of gas, wars of fire,
victories without survivors,
would put on clean clothing
and would walk alongside their brothers
in the shade, without doing a thing.


What I want shouldn’t be confused
with final inactivity:
life alone is what matters,
I want nothing to do with death.


If we weren’t unanimous
about keeping our lives so much in motion,
if we could perhaps do nothing for once,
perhaps a great silence would interrupt this sadness,
this never understanding ourselves
and threatening ourselves with death,
perhaps the earth is teaching us
when everything seems to be dead
and everything is alive.


Now I will count to twelve
and you keep quiet and I’ll go.


- Pablo Neruda


(English translation by Stephen Mitchell)

Corona

Bursting red flowers

Invisible to the eye

Your beauty slays us

We lather our hands

And with only you in mind

Close ourselves from life

We listen for stars

For wind rapping at our doors

And discover peace

In our solitude

In the true present moment

It is all we have

It is all we need

Our essential bouquet


- Katherine Hastings

Funeral During A Pandemic


You will die.Everyone you know will die.
You know this.
But you don’t know when.


Until now it has been easy
to believe it will be some time off
in the far distant future; too far
to really consider it a factor
in how you live your life.


But now can you feel the angel circling,
coming in for a landing somewhere near.


At the graveside service
we keep our bodies distant
as prudence and patriotism advise.


But we touch with eyes,
with voices joined in song,
wondering who will be next and
how often we will gather this way
to remember…


How precious these days and
how precious these glances that say
“I see you; you are not alone!”


May we learn to hold each life tenderly
and see it for the fragile,
luminous and improbable gift that it is.


- Larry Robinson

Today, When I Could Do Nothing


Today, when I could do nothing,
I saved an ant.

It must have come in with the morning paper,
still being delivered
to those who shelter in place.

A morning paper is still an essential service.

I am not an essential service.

I have coffee and books,
time,
a garden,
silence enough to fill cisterns.

It must have first walked
the morning paper, as if loosened ink
taking the shape of an ant.

Then across the laptop computer — warm —
then onto the back of a cushion.

Small black ant, alone,
crossing a navy cushion,
moving steadily because that is what it could do.

Set outside in the sun,
it could not have found again its nest.
What then did I save?

It did not move as if it was frightened,
even while walking my hand,
which moved it through swiftness and air.

Ant, alone, without companions,
whose ant-heart I could not fathom—
how is your life, I wanted to ask.

I lifted it, took it outside.

This first day when I could do nothing,
contribute nothing
beyond staying distant from my own kind,
I did this.

- Jane Hirshfield

shelter in place


while we shelter in place
look in quiet at the wild green grasses
see the red there a hinge at the sides of each leaf
red purple
at the end of the awns of each forming seed
purple red
and so many fine white hairs held in the cup of each leaf
all colors of green grass


curl up by a tree rest your head on a sweater
hear the crickets frogs birds
ducks fly by and honk
the breeze gently rustles the old man’s beard lichen
hanging from trees


as we shelter in place busy ants run along a fallen branch
a spring peeper sends his hopeful “creeeeeh “ out into the air
dreaming of puddles where froggy eggs meet froggy sperm
and soon tadpoles wriggle
dream on calling frog egrets and the kick and splash of new froggy legs
into the pond all await you
ducks paddle nearby onward in life


as we shelter under the clouds long enough
to watch the flotilla make their slow silent cumulus way across the wide sky
“to weet “ calls the red wing blackbird “to weet “


we shelter on green grass under trees
beneath cloud ships within a sound tapestry of birds frogs bugs breeze
we shelter on our beautiful living Earth

- Theresa Roach Melia

The Peace of Wild Things


When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.


- Wendell Berry

Listening

In the dark
pre-dawn mornings,
I listen to the trees.
Sometimes I hear nothing,
but feel their reassuring presence.
Sometimes words sail
into my head,
like the goldfinches
landing on my bird feeder.
Today they told me:
Ground! Ground deeply.
You will know people
who get ill.
You may know some who
will die.
You could even be
one of them.
Your task today
is to ground and be
a solid presence
on this patch of earth.
Watch us
and follow suit.


- Maya Spector

Meditation on Not Touching My Face


I should be practiced at this.
I should have mastery after
Minutes becoming hours, becoming days,
Becoming this explicit eternity.


Still I’m a beginner on the
Planet of my body
That may or may not be
Toxic to myself, my so-
Vulnerable, dressed in a layer
Of naked skin, like the rest of
My kind, Self.


All this time, living,
Knowing our delusions,
Dreams of eternal, forever
Freedom from Fate’s cruel,
Kind or indifferent reach
Were illusions and
Still


As time becomes itself a type
Of enemy, I find, for once
My own face
A dangerous place.


- Rebecca del Rio

Mary Oliver for Corona Times
(Thoughts after the poem Wild Geese)


You do not have to become totally zen,
You do not have to use this isolation to make your marriage better,
your body slimmer, your children more creative.
You do not have to “maximize its benefits”
By using this time to work even more,
write the bestselling Corona Diaries,
Or preach the gospel of ZOOM.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body unlearn
everything capitalism has taught you,
(That you are nothing if not productive,
That consumption equals happiness,
That the most important unit is the single self.
That you are at your best when you resemble an efficient machine).




Tell me about your fictions, the ones you’ve been sold,
the ones you sheepishly sell others,
and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world as we know it is crumbling.
Meanwhile the virus is moving over the hills,
suburbs, cities, farms and trailer parks.
Meanwhile The News barks at you, harsh and addicting,
Until the push of the remote leaves a dead quiet behind,
a loneliness that hums as the heart anchors.
Meanwhile a new paradigm is composing itself in our minds,
Could birth at any moment if we clear some space
From the same tired hegemonies.
Remember, you are allowed to be still as the white birch,
Stunned by what you see,
Uselessly shedding your coils of paper skins
Because it gives you something to do.
Meanwhile, on top of everything else you are facing,
Do not let capitalism coopt this moment,
laying its whistles and train tracks across your weary heart.
Even if your life looks nothing like the Sabbath,
Your stress boa-constricting your chest.
Know that your ancy kids, your terror, your shifting moods,
Your need for a drink have every right to be here,
And are no less sacred than a yoga class.
Whoever you are, no matter how broken,
the world still has a place for you, calls to you over and over
announcing your place as legit, as forgiven,
even if you fail and fail and fail again.
remind yourself over and over,
all the swells and storms that run through your long tired body
all have their place here, now in this world.
It is your birthright to be held
deeply, warmly in the family of things,
not one cell left in the cold.




- Adrie Kusserow

A Dispatch From Seattle

or, Nervous in the Hot Zone
Yes, we’re scared but we also make
zombie apocalypse jokes
By texts. I don’t know when I’ll see
my friends in person again.
We don’t want to panic and overreact
but we don’t want
To underreact. Some of my friends
are still hosting parties.
Some of them are still planning
to take their previously
Scheduled trips overseas. Some are
the polite looters
Who are buying all the toilet paper
in Seattle.
“Good for you,” I text to one of them.
“You’ll be
The most hygienic and well-stocked
shitter in the city.”
Some of my fellow Native Americans
are performing
The highly sacred Indigenous shrug,
as in, “Dude,
They’re not giving us smallpox
blankets.”
But, hey, it’s the Trumps. Their
wicked incompetence
And delusional arrogance is
striking us
With smallpox of the soul.
I try to listen
Only to the health experts,
but the dipshits,
Conspiracy theorists, partisan
hacks, trolls,
And the mentally ill dominate
the discourse,
As they always do. How did
we get to a place
Where the borderline personalities
get quoted
As if they were experts by borderline
journalists
Who also act as if they’re experts,
as well?
Maybe the true pandemic is
immodesty.
Maybe the true pandemic is
the loss
Of a shared and common
decency.
But, hell, that’s big talk
for someone
Like me, who just angrily,
impulsively,
And paranoidly bought
$500 worth
Of canned food. And yet,
I also know
That people are good. I know
that most of us
Will reflexively switch
into kindness
Mode. That’s what humans,
at their best,
Have almost always done.
In the meantime,
Here I am, re-binging on Parks
and Recreation
As I serve myself another bowl
of lactose-free
Ice cream and rhyme my way
through self-quarantine.

- Sherman Alexie