On COVID and Other Natural Disasters

poem #4

Almost every year since I moved back to Oregon there has been a natural disaster here, and last month, less than a mile from where I used to live in Boulder County, Colorado, in only a few hours, a grassfire destroyed a thousand structures. Sometimes I ignore it all in order not to feel overwhelmed, sometimes I donate to an org or check in on those I know who have been affected. Other times, I write poems.

---

A Prayer to Live in the Moment

This morning, I picked up sticks

that had fallen from a tree during

the big ice storm. No screens

out there, only the feel of twigs

against my palm, the suction

as my shoes stepped in snow and mud.

I could think of the thousands

without power, the National Guard

going house to house, the coldness

of sleeping without heat.

And I did and I do, but for a moment,

let me smell the almost-spring,

let me be pleased I can bend and toss

without pain, that I can fill a whole can

while sensing, not thinking.

---

Late Summer

The sky is hazy—

I’m not sure whether from fire or from heat.

The neighbor kids sell lemonade,

a Hispanic and a white. Did you vote

for Trump? the white kid asks.

No, Biden, says the Hispanic.

Why? asks the white kid, then, as if on cue,

both decide to discuss the weather.

It hasn’t rained in Portland for months.

I feel the dryness in my mouth,

on my skin, as though I’m still

in Colorado. Strange I’d worried

my spouse wouldn’t like the dark sky

and I’m the one without enough Vitamin D.

Life is always throwing curve balls.

I’m sadly getting used to it.

Placid. Something I never thought I’d be.

Something maybe I’ve fallen into

from collective grief. In NYC, 12,000

hidden dead, this time by a Democrat.

I try not to read the news.

I put on a mask, and again,

pick up all the trash on my street.

---

I hope everyone is well! Next time, I’ll discuss the labor movement in the book/publishing business.

Rachel