Life in Quarantine: Witnessing Global Pandemic is an initiative sponsored by the Poetic Media Lab and the Center for Spatial and Textual Analysis at Stanford University.
2020 a strange strange year
like a time bomb waiting for breaking news to strike
beasts in filthy cages
pellets and food pets from puppy mills
children sleep in soiled cages
family separation asylum still out of reach
dystopian predictions dystopian facts
big business declares war on its workers
unions wages healthcare live at triage
newspeak from the white house
twists failure into praise fiction into history
our self-proclaimed leader plays mobster roulette
the press elections & laws face execution
he gives carte blanche to an alien dressed as the flu
& the sick keep getting sicker
with too many fevers chills coughs & losses of smell & taste
death toll rising ghost towns replace cities
bodies overflow morgues the homeless live underground
tests & cures not fast enough
business as usual for corporate generals
2020 a strange strange year
people shut indoors waiting not knowing what to believe
their time bombs not knowing when to explode
wisdom comes with maturity but it’s hard to be wise
when your nation caters to avarice and ignorance
you never saw the storm seize the new year
& like the government life shuts down for struggle to thrive
anxiety doesn’t believe in social distancing
sends cryptic messages between you and your mask
you did your best prayed for that miracle
that fell prey to lies & deceit
open your eyes your angel left for another zoom call
stay locked in your quarantine
watch gray feathers etched in red blow off the fire escape
Chet Baker’s trumpet sings
unrestricted airwaves
in a senseless world
lonely trees by the promenade
wooden arms and hands
feel wind’s breath
an empty shore
a bedroom for sea and mist
to play without panic
courtyard ball games
a father spends time
with his son
a writer watches
social distancing
from the 2nd floor
Charlie was in bed,
tubes attached to his body,
listened to cartoons
on a nineteen-inch screen,
thought of Sophia,
his “Belle of Flatbush.”
When la luna was full,
Charlie used to sing
Moonlight Serenade
outside Sophia’s gate.
They’d slow-dance
to Glenn Miller’s rendition.
He’d relax his rhythm,
hold Sophia closer,
recall how safe she felt.
Her soft brown curls
would drape on his shoulder—
her smoky eyes—
stelle colorate, tinted stars
over a make-believe Brooklyn sky.
His protective hold couldn’t save her
from breast cancer twenty years ago,
their two sons from Viet Nam’s death call,
or their daughter from her husband’s fists.
A massive stroke took Sonny,
his last living friend.
His relatives were either dead
or couldn’t care less.
Charlie was in bed,
tubes attached to his body,
alone—except for routine visits from
the nursing home staff,
wondered if Sophia would be there for him
when he leaves for the morgue.
He hummed Moonlight Serenade,
but a dry cough cut his tune short.
Sadness, age, and high fever
drained his cognition and will to live.
His memory was of the past,
not the present.
He prayed for Death’s visit—
Death would wear a white coat,
walk past the rooms,
make decisions on who’s to come
and who’s to stay.
But Death forgot about him—
perhaps Death’s eyesight was fading
when he came by last week,
took Hector instead.
Tina, his favorite nurse,
no longer visited him—
was in critical condition
due to a new virus going around.
He closed his eyes,
saw Glenn Miller and his band
perform Moonlight Serenade
at the Waldorf Astoria.
Everything was in Technicolor.
Sophia,
radiant and youthful,
rose from her table.
She came closer,
her smoky eyes—
stelle colorate, tinted stars
over a make-believe Brooklyn sky.
By the entrance,
a man in a white coat
checked his clipboard,
greeted Charlie with a smile
and opened the gate.
Anna had a good time grooving to Sam Cooke on the radio
time-traveled back to when she a teenager
teased her hair wore pencil skirts twisted to 45s
put popcorn on the Formica table drank Cokes from the Frigidaire
chatted to friends about Johnny the bad boy from Glenwood Road
her American dream resided in expectation
the princess wedding gown the white picket fence around a Flatbush Victorian
the family genes to be passed on
no matter how hard she tried Johnny left her for Sally
other men kept their distance & early menopause called her instead
her wedding dress burned her unborn kids buried
her Victorian house sold to developers
for a lifetime of work a meager social security check EBT benefits
& a cramped one-bedroom apartment with her tabby Jenny
a cracked mirror meant 7 more years of bad luck
& further decline in her reflection
she lived in quarantine before it became mandatory
held on to her past in boxes shopping bags & 45s
the song ended & Anna felt dizzy
on her torn sofa
she thought about Johnny Sally & what transpired
with eyes still open her head rested on the frayed throw pillow
Jenny tapped Anna’s shoulder
sniffed under her nose & mouth
realized that she was not responding
Patricia Carragon’s recent publications include Alien Buddha Press, Bear Creek Haiku, BigCityLit, Concrete Mist Press, First Literary Review-East, Indolent Books, Jerry Jazz Musician, Live Mag!,The New Verse News, North of Oxford, Panoplyzine, Oddball Magazine, Orbis International Literary Journal, Silver Birch Press, et al. Her poem Paris the Beautiful won Poem of the Week from great weather for MEDIA Her latest books from Poets Wear Prada are Meowku and The Cupcake Chronicles, and Innocence from Finishing Line Press. Her novel, Angel Fire, is forthcoming from Alien Buddha Press. Patricia hosts Brownstone Poets and is the editor-in-chief of its annual anthology.
Brooklyn, New York
Life in Quarantine: Witnessing Global Pandemic is an initiative sponsored by the Poetic Media Lab and the Center for Spatial and Textual Analysis at Stanford University.
Center for Spatial and Textual Analysis (CESTA),
Stanford University
Address:
4th floor, Wallenberg Hall (bldg. 160)
450 Jane Stanford Way
Stanford, CA 94305
Stanford Mail Code: 2055