Inspired by Barbara Kingsolver's poem "Burying Ground," particularly this line: Hearts full afraid of the asking price.
It was nearly a year ago her
father was put on a ventilator,
having been denied a COVID
test because he didn't fit
"the profile."
He being a 39-year-old black man.
And this dancer poet in my class
with the all-encompassing name of "Skye"
sang "Three Little Birds" in an
online candlelight service for her popular father,
the one she joked with about "jojoba" and watching
The Pink Panther movie when he got home from
his DJ job at 3 in the morning.
"Don't worry about a thing"
was a lie in this case, as I'm
sure Skye's mom had plenty
to be worried about when
her man was ripped away.
Their family...three little birds...down to two.
And the world was quiet
the concert halls and baseball
stadiums and basketball courts.
And everyone said "We're in this together"
until we weren't.
Suddenly, it was a hoax, a conspiracy, a lie.
The anti-maskers broke loose because,
you know, freedom,
and the governor opened things back up because,
you know, the economy.
And even though I've never had
a COVID test or been
quarantined from my job,
I've never doubted the risk.
Because a dancer poet
in my creative writing class
lost her father in the early days,
when we were still bumbling
along trying to figure this out.
I never did and never will take this lightly.
Each human life too precious.
Each human life needed by someone.
