the capsized cling to laptops
bottom lines sink
will you fast with me?
eat freedom
grasp-less embodiment
grief release my child
birthed spirit
walk decades undead
here I remain, expanded
midwife ush-plush-usher
in beyond normalcy
forced dimensional bridge
bear down, collected
dilation span
breath
yet here we be
awed ask of creation
A package arrived yesterday afternoon via UPS, just as John was taking Rudi, our little dachsie, out for a pee. Well, bedlam ensued. Rudi and I were squeezed in the storm porch between open doors. My husband John was on the front steps trying to shut the door. The delivery guy was trying to give the parcel to John. John was trying not to take the parcel. The dog was barking—a lot and loudly.
I started running around trying to find a plastic bag for the package that John was now holding on my return to the door. John called for scissors to open to package because he didn’t want to bring it inside.
I ran back to the kitchen and yelled that I was getting a bag from under the sink and to leave it all outside…. Good grief.
It was like someone had just delivered a bomb. God.
We have to “cam down,” as they say around here. My friend said that her father, who was a fisherman, used to say about the sea some days: “It’s a flat-ass sea.” So we must be.
The package is now in isolation for a week.
On our tour of the Rio Negro, while the boat
putters across its strong-tea waters
local guide, Diago adds colour commentary
in addition to the construction genius of a bridge
over 2 miles long with 246 supporting columns, he adds
that each month 24 people plummet to death from it
he describes first contact with Europeans,
how villagers leaped into currents to drown
terrified by the strange fevers of smallpox
at the Dessana village, after describing
the rich traditional tribal celebrations, he warns
don’t stand under Brazil nut trees
after today’s rain, a 5-pound fruit is likely
to fall 200 feet at 50 miles per hour
and kill you
he explains how villagers died fighting
gold thieves who first arrived by sail boat
then by twin-prop airplane
at the rubber museum he regales us with stories
of the rubber tappers dying of yellow fever
or malaria, eaten by jaguars
passing hissing factories, 45-year-old Diago
says the average person in Manaus dies at 55
cancer, diabetes, heart disease
no mention of Covid-19
until our cruise ship docks in Antigua
after an Italian ship is turned away
disembarking in San Juan three days later
borders are closing and I think of Diago
sharing this new way to die
his Rio Negro already black
with bones of the dead
(Original link with readers’ comments here.)
Today’s sum twenty
Eight thousand and two hundred
Forty-four ascents.
Sun sears fishbone sky
Cloudbursts pierce quicksilver hems
Earth inhales exhales.
White noise lie in state
Silent sky and interstate
Doves know no borders.
1. “Don’t touch my face, don’t touch my face.” Repeating the mantra when the wind blows my hair in my eyes.
2. When I hear the front door open, “Strip, take off your clothes. Wash your hands.”
3. “OMG, I’d hate to be on that cruise!” On hearing about the Grand Princess passengers.
4. “Ah, this is so sweet of you. You brought me a gift that’s better than flowers,” I say, handling the 60-roll toilet paper package.
5. “Social distancing, social distancing,” I say, erecting a pillow wall in our king sized bed.
6. “Do you know they’re selling t-shirts with the face of the Chief Medical Officer?”
7. “Forget the bananas!” Reinforcing the “stay-at-home” directive to my ninety-year-old mother.
8. “What? My laptop doesn’t have a camera? I need a webcam, like yesterday.”
9. “My light switches have never been this clean.”
10. “I’m going back to my roots,” I announce upon hearing hair salons have closed.
(Original link with readers’ comments here.)
