Covid-19 has changed all our lives. Back in March, when businesses closed and people tried to stay at home, it was tough to wrap our minds around what was happening.
The novel I was working on fell by the wayside. How could I concentrate on writing about a tragic event in history when a more tragic one was happening in the present? One I—and everyone I knew—was part of?
Documenting Future History
As a writer of historical fiction, I am always on the alert for documents like diaries and letters that were written during the time periods I write about. I thought about the importance for writers in the future to find primary sources from our Covid journey.
I started taking notes about what people on the news said, what those around me did, and how it made me feel. My notes took on a rhythm and morphed into a poem.
A similar thing happened to me on September 11th, 2001. Two weeks after the buildings fell, I wrote a poem about that day and the events that followed. Writing that poem opened the flood gates that allowed me to focus on my work again. It is published in the collection ANYTHING PROSE AND POETRY TOO.
But Covid didn’t end. It still hasn’t. I found myself writing verse after verse for over six weeks, when a beloved cousin passed away after his battle with Covid. Tim died on May 3. On the 4th, I wrote the last line of my poem. I call it NUMBERS.
Numbers
The coronavirus monster’s here, called COVID-19 now.
The numbers it leaves in its wake are terrible—and how!
The numbers swirl within my brain, reflecting COVID’s spread.
New obligations, statewide rules have filled our lives with dread.
What number is your temperature? How long have you been ill?
And even if you aren’t sick, are you contagious still?
Self-quarantine for 14 days, then stay at home for weeks,
And watch the governors and docs talk curves and spikes and peaks.
While my 2 feet and your 2 feet need 6 feet in between,
A hundred thousand pairs of hands are 20-second clean.
A gathering is less than 10 and not held in a bar.
You get a test or wait for food while sitting in your car.
How many gloves? How many masks? Are they N95?
How many tests are being done? How many will survive?
Who is essential? Who is not? Depends on where you stand.
Delivery men, Meat packers, and shelf stockers in demand.
But what about the hair salons? Are they essential, too?
The liquor stores? And do you really need a new tattoo?
All meetings are through Skype or Zoom, and funerals have to wait
While graduations, weddings, proms must find another date.
Some numbers have just disappeared. No scores. No RBI.
No stadiums. No Derby run. Olympic flag won’t fly.
A million-plus can work from home. Unemployment’s off the chart,
While zero is the TP count in every shopping cart.
The bleach and Lysol wipes are scarce. Few cleaners are around.
Hand sanitizer’s just a dream. It simply can’t be found.
The schools are out until the fall, and we can’t socialize.
No Sunday Mass, the church doors closed. Yet, prayer is on the rise.
The countless healthcare workers serve so far beyond the call.
Physicians, nurses, cleaning crews are heroes, one and all.
Protesters gripe. Some folks complain. “Put freedom first!” they shout.
What will they say when COVID strikes someone they care about?
We don’t know what the answer is. Remdesivir? Vaccine?
With trials and experiments, how soon will it be seen?
As numbers post and change each day, they cause us to lament
The grimness and the loss of what they truly represent.
Don’t bother pointing fingers. It’s not time for laying blame.
We have a common enemy, and COVID is its name.
So take precautions, stay at home, wear masks if sick or fine.
The life you save might be your own. It also could be mine.
While fear and isolation play their cruel and evil game,
Remember that it’s up to us. Each number has a name.
A Still Lingering Monster
When I finished my poem, the next thing I wrote was my cousin’s eulogy. I was honored to be asked, and I will miss him always. I had to watch his funeral online. Not the kind of Goodbye we wanted. I couldn’t hug his wife and children.
That was three months ago, and we are still struggling with the Covid monster.
I am back to writing my novel again, but life is very different. I am extra thankful for every day I am given. I know I take fewer things for granted now.
Stay safe, Everyone! Be patient. Be kind. Take care of one another.
