When the world burns, we will be like the women
of Pompeii who left their bread loaves to bake—
our laundry mid-cycle, newspapers turned
to the op-eds, windows open to catch a breeze.
Their prose often stood head and shoulders above the standard freshman drivel, exhibiting a certain rigor of thought and depth of feeling that perhaps comes from having witnessed whole anthologies of trauma—entire villages razed by fire, wide-eyed children draped in gore, wives screaming beside mutilated husbands.
I’ve lived enough to expect odd snow-squalls, slapped
To anger by nasty winds. I predict more hours
In which we’re sealed in rooms foursquare and flat,
Where we’ll dream of the past…
A friend in Connecticut has lost
over 40 friends and relatives to covid-19.
Overwhelmed with grief,
he can no longer speak.
Love is complicated. Courtesy is simple. Start with courtesy.
By coming to recognise the degree to which overlapping and different narratives shape our expectations in love, we can avoid some of the worst outcomes.
Each day my friend asks us to share
evidence of grace, photo trails of kids laughing,
prayer flags strung with petals