Having seen, unmistakably, the second line

I join the haves, keeping
distance from
the have nots.

Oh, the fevered
battle, the many
dead soldiers blown

gently from the nostrils
into soft tissue,
their duty honorably

discharged. This sweep,
the clearing of
the fallen, a residual

chill and tremble. Later,
I will sit in the sun,
make soup, add

COVID to the story
of my body’s life,
a short chapter in

the long tale of what
it was like to
live here,

to be terminally contained —
this flesh and bone, these
organs, a metropolis of cells —

the body’s vulnerabilities
and immunities,
which today easily prevail,

but one day will not, one
day will surrender to
illness, injury,

 age, infirmity: A
last chill and tremble,
an enveloping weariness,

a long rest.

 

I accidentally posted this prematurely last week; my apologies for the duplication. I’m going to blame the fever. 🙂 All better now.  

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Tags: acceptance, body, contagion, coronavirus, COVID, creative writing, illness, mortality, Omicron, pandemic, poem, poetry