COVID, Isolation & Hope: Artists Respond to the Pandemic
This collection of poetry from during the Pandemic is healing. The humor heals. The insight. The dread. The hope. Poetry is good medicine right now.”
–Luis J. Rodriguez, Los Angeles Poet Laureate (2013-2016), author of From Our Land to Our Land: Essays, Journeys & Imaginings of a Native Xicanx Writer.
“A bulletin from the volatile waiting room that is 2020 to now, this anthology trembles with anxiety, anger, sorrow, and—at times—the most bitter pleasure. The writers/photographers assembled here jostle elbows and speak unmasked on pages that fold them into each other’s faces, homes, and grief. It’s a terrible grace that these artists cross such vast social distances to cut so close to the bone, that they set down to reckon with a time many can’t wait to forget.”
–Douglas Kearney
“From Wang Ping’s moving story of a doctor and a COVID patient in Wuhan, to Kim Dower’s plucky courage in the face of isolation, to the music of Amélie Frank’s pantoum, this anthology is full of candor, grace, insight, and good humor. But mostly it is full of poetry, “the only form of speech we have that meets this need to acknowledge that we are more than unemployment statistics and death tolls” (Victor Infante). What but poetry to help us come to terms with how extraordinary the ordinary things in our lives have become? What but poetry to remind us that though we “shelter in space/like the stars” (Luis CuahtémocBerriozabal), “the baby still needs to be fed” (Aqueila M. Lewis-Ross). Life, for the fortunate of us, has gone on, but this historical moment will be remembered always. I am delighted that this anthology of COVID poems will be there to make sure it is remembered in all its beautiful humanity.”
–Gail Wronsky
Being, Human
Soon we will count
the dead by who we
know or knew.
Soon it won’t matter if
your backyard is full
of leaves.
Life will be recorded as
after…
and I don’t know which
statistic I will be
part of, or how to prepare for
anything -- except breathing.
Monsters in closets don’t seem
as scary. At least they
are home, and safe.
Each night a survival, but
the clock ticks on. I’ve stopped
setting the alarm.
Is anyone ever really
prepared --when the end
could be tomorrow? These thoughts
are now rational.
So is admitting
fear, as we shelter in place;
reminiscing about hugs
we may never
share again.
There are people we
will want to reach
out to - but don’t.
Even in a pandemic
things will remain
unresolved.
Regret will be a list too
long. Nothing will ever
be the same. Soon
we will stop
being in denial
of what is our own
fault. Wait
who am I kidding? We’re
human.