It is it 

Sorted by: Theme: Poetry

Written Story by Tom

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It is it 

I had Covid twice

I was more dead than alive

pale gasp walk to grocery

cooties consuming me

life fading lungs

I dreamt of stairwells

It’s done, the grandmas are in graves

masks in storage, we move on

no

its to remember and be kept

hurt stories and names

I love you all, kneel and cry

in a field of tranquil flower

my cup of mourning is full

among the rest

on this bus ride

I don’t want to be alone

sit next to me

and we will hold behind masks

I come home from work at a convalescent home

people die constantly

stand here and hold a hand

as it grows cold

watch the beeps diminish

again, cease breath and slide

its not time yet to cry

we have to go on weaving

we held death and shoved on

a mourner, with frown and bouquet

look at us on the bus

a forest away with lilac of death among

we should come to each other

sit with, tell your grasp of the raft

 

a vanishing point

I went among prairies

to mourn better,

bring cloth for graves

on hard roads

I went away with seekers

slept rough and fought truth

where I wanted to walk was all water

when I wanted talk, a bus bench

so I willow in vanish sorrow

among hay feather glass birds

you died in Covid

and we leave that to here

arms draw inward

geese weave reeds

honk and make silly the morose

hands sift loss among moon wool

inward we mourn

as lamps close

Themes:

AbleismCare & COVID 19Community Connection & IsolationDisability/ImmunocompromisedGrief & ChangePoetryWork/Unemployment

Medium: Written

Author: Tom

Date Submitted: November 28, 2023

Bio:

I had Covid twice. First time was before the notice of emergency. It was death in a slow walk. This monster had me so tired I couldn’t fight it with walks, baths, citrus and zinc. I lost my job, all my savings, and only survived by friend’s gifts. Then after shots, got a variant, slept 18 hours for a week.

I was born in Iowa. Rode freight trains here in ’96. Travelled a good amount but have kept Portland as home. Started writing poems when I was a child. Won the Oregon Book Award for Poetry in ’07. Published in journals in NY, SF, Paris, London, LA, Philadelphia, Portland and Minneapolis.

Written Story by Sierra

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Archived

This is what it feels to be archived.
Tucked away in the dusty basement
in a filing system few remember
existing out of circulation

This is what it feels to be archived.
I haven’t caught the plague
it hasn’t killed me yet
but for now, I am a faded artifact
they want out of sight

This is what it feels to be archived.
To those with their heads in the ground
I am a emblem of their ignorance
a keepsake of their wrongdoings
a time capsule of their broken promises

This is what it feels to be archived.
And yet,
I will not let them ignore me.

Themes:

Care & COVID 19Grief & ChangeIdentity & Social ChangeInspiration & HopeMental Health/WellbeingPoetry

Medium: Written

Author: Sierra

Date Submitted: November 28, 2023

Bio:

My name is Sierra, and I am a queer, disabled linguist living in the metro area. I have slowly been rekindling my love for poetry, and it has provided a lot of healing during this pandemic. Words are so powerful, and I hope that my poem made you feel a little less alone.

Written Story by Sage-Curry

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We have been learning to be strong little one

As the wind and rain have found no pattern against the windowpane It has been me and you

Together

Who listen to the howl of humanity’s suffering outside our window. When you first smiled

My own disappeared willingingly behind a mask

Your first words

Were for me only

As we are alone now

But they are all the more precious

As a word in joy has the weight of a precious metal in this time. In the endless darkness you nurse

Pulling life from my body into yours

What kind of world have I brought you into?

My tears tremble silently down

Upon your round perfect cheek

A beach, a ride in a grocery cart

The library, a grandma

Everything I took for granted

Before your birth

Of those things at least I could offer you

I thought.

I knew nothing of the storm that would come so soon after you were born And through the sleepless nights of your new life

I found dread knotted into my new existence as your mother. All I knew was that

I must protect the tiny pulsing light of your spirit

And I will

I promise you sweet innocent

My greatest love

Our ancestors.

Whoever and wherever they found themselves

Survived the cold, the pain, the loss

To bring me and then you to this place

Our storm will end

Someday

And when that time comes

I will take you by the hand

And show you how beautiful the world outside our window is.

Themes:

Community Connection & IsolationHealth CareInspiration & HopePoetryPregnancy & Birth

Medium: Written

Author: Sage-Curry

Date Submitted: November 28, 2023

Written Story by Anonymous

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Course Schedule

Spring 2020 – French 340: Oral Skills

An advanced study in moving mouths around unfamiliar vowels

We watch the professors tongue hit his teeth, not like that mais comme ça

Sent home to distinguish pronunciations through delayed Zoom connections

Updating our vocabulary; contagieux, unprecedented, pandémie

Even en français these words can’t be romanticized

There is no skill in communicating the worry of unknowns

Only empathy and patience as time strides by and stays put

Why do we entertain the fanfare of academia in times like these

The only test I can bear to take is being withheld by our government

What do grade point averages mean to ghosts

Summer 2020 – Arts 310: Living with Dying; Analyzing HBO’s Six Feet Under

Syllabus finalized in early spring, seats filled before the hospital beds did

Somber introductions and acknowledgement of newly found relevance

Binge watching episodes between planning memorials

I’ve been waiting 15 years to stop whispering about death

But even now as we yell, they don’t listen

My final project is a business plan; implementing grief education in schools

There is beauty in creating the structures we wish we’d had

And anger in knowing our pain doesn’t necessitate change

I am no stranger to death

I know there are much worse things to face

Fall 2020 – French 400: Linguistics

Apocalypse, from the Greek apokalyptein, “to uncover”

Etymology turning despair to opportunity

The clarity of interconnectedness cannot be unseen

How can our words keep up with circumstance

Do we dare attempt to articulate our fragmented realities?

I study language to collect descriptors,

Work in health because care transcends translation.

Indefinitely distanced, I seek connection through expression

Covid dismantled my lexicon and sense of community

I rebuild them both

Themes:

Community Connection & IsolationGrief & ChangeHealth CareIdentity & Social ChangeInspiration & HopePoetryWork/Unemployment

Medium: Written

Author: Anonymous

Date Submitted: November 28, 2023

Bio:

having worked in a peer-led covid mitigation initiative on their university’s campus and graduating with a degree in language studies, this artist has been heavily contemplating the intimate relationship between health, grief, and artistic expression since 2020. they value community built on solidarity and creativity.

Written Story by F.I. Goldhaber

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Eugenics

First published in The Trick Is To Keep Breathing and What Color is Your Privilege?
September, 2022 

She said the quiet part out loud,
people “unwell to begin with”
don’t deserve to live. Just like the
poor, the Black, the Indigenous,
the immigrants, the Queers, the Trans.

Because once they figured out most
victims were marginalized, had
comorbidities, were “others”,
the fight to eliminate the
virus succumbed to the battle
to save the economy god.
in the name of the Profit you
must sacrifice the grandparents,
disabled veterans, nannys’
children, baristas’ mothers, clerks
at the corner stores, restaurant
servers, health care workers, drivers
bringing groceries, carry out.

The U.S. already makes clear
who is not wanted, including
those with disabilities, pre-
existing conditions, other
gods, languages, and cultural
traditions. No skin tones kissed with
melanin or “natural” hair.

Disposable collateral,
oblations necessary to
avoid missing brunch, a concert,
a chance to go out dancing or
cheer for the home team at a pub.
Millions already dead, millions
more permanently disabled to
ensure the privileged’s comfort,
the corporations’ bottom lines,
billionaires’ stock portfolios.

As we tumble into Nazi
sovereignty it’s worth reminding
those gambling with their own health and
risking the lives of others, that
among the first slaughtered in the
German Holocaust were those who’re
disabled by the “Spanish” flu.

 

Themes:

Care & COVID 19Community Connection & IsolationDisability/ImmunocompromisedGrief & ChangeHealth CareIdentity & Social ChangePoetryWork/Unemployment

Medium: Written

Author: F.I. Goldhaber

Date Submitted: November 28, 2023

Bio:

F.I. Goldhaber’s words capture people, places, and politics with a photographer’s eye and a poet’s soul. Paper, plastic, electronic, and audio magazines, books, newspapers, calendars, broadsides, and street signs display their poetry, fiction, and essays. Left Fork press published — 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑪𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒈𝒆? — their collection of political statements in poetic form — in September, 2022. http://www.goldhaber.net/

Written Story by F.I. Goldhaber

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Normal Life 

First Published, August 2020, in CHAOS: The Poetry Vortex

You have a nice home to shelter in,
food to eat, shows to stream, games to play.

You don’t live with an abuser or
parents who misgender you; insist
your orientation is sinful.

Yet you complain you’re deprived of your
social life, restaurants, bars, park visits.

You don’t need to risk your life and your
loved ones for minimum wage
without protection, sick leave, health care.

You’ve enough to pay your bills; credit
cards to order online; connected
devices allowing well-paid work.

But you miss the ball games, parties,
band performances, church services.

You don’t shiver in the cold, snow, and
rain under a tent if you’re lucky,
or just a cardboard box, or blanket.

If your throat is sore, your head feels hot,
you can telephone your physician.

You don’t have to stand in line for a
clinic that sends you home when they run
out of test kits. Or just keep working.

You know what the virus looks like,
how to prevent exposure and illness.

You don’t toil next to those who could be
infected with no information
how, or supplies, to protect yourself.

You fret about event and concert
cancellations, missed graduations.

You don’t worry about untreated
broken bones; forced sex without access
to birth control; deadly pregnancy.

The only people desperate for
life to return to normal are those
privileged to enjoy “normal” life.

 

Themes:

Care & COVID 19Community Connection & IsolationDisability/ImmunocompromisedGrief & ChangeHealth CareIdentity & Social ChangePoetryWork/Unemployment

Medium: Written

Author: F.I. Goldhaber

Date Submitted: November 27, 2023

Bio:

F.I. Goldhaber’s words capture people, places, and politics with a photographer’s eye and a poet’s soul. Paper, plastic, electronic, and audio magazines, books, newspapers, calendars, broadsides, and street signs display their poetry, fiction, and essays. Left Fork press published — 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑪𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒈𝒆? — their collection of political statements in poetic form — in September, 2022. http://www.goldhaber.net/

Written Story by F.I. Goldhaber

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Alone, Now and Forever 

Alone, Now and Forever

 

 

Themes:

Care & COVID 19Community Connection & IsolationDisability/ImmunocompromisedGrief & ChangeHealth CareIdentity & Social ChangePoetryWork/Unemployment

Medium: Written

Author: F.I. Goldhaber

Date Submitted: November 27, 2023

Bio:

F.I. Goldhaber’s words capture people, places, and politics with a photographer’s eye and a poet’s soul. Paper, plastic, electronic, and audio magazines, books, newspapers, calendars, broadsides, and street signs display their poetry, fiction, and essays. Left Fork press published — 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑪𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒈𝒆? — their collection of political statements in poetic form — in September, 2022. http://www.goldhaber.net/

Written Story by Daniela Ortiz Mendez

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We met at Amelia’s

Saludos, mi nombre es Daniela Ortiz Mendez, 

and I want to share a poem, a story, a memory with you. 

This all took place in my head, in her head, in our countries, and across a border. It was May 2021. 

We met at Amelia’s 

And we sat down for tacos and coffee 

It pained me to see her so sad, but I knew it was nothing compared to her loss. She told me she hadn’t taken a break 

“The business isn’t going to run itself” 

I hate how legalities can stifle grief 

She gave me a golden box, her most prized possession 

It was heavy, 

the weight of responsibility, 

of sadness, 

of wanting to desperately do more 

I’m so sorry I couldn’t. 

This gold urn with ashes of loved ones was the cost of our healthcare system 

I traversed airport lines and land borders, carrying this urn on my back; I arrived in Tijuana, next to the kiosko with bright crepe paper hanging from the wrought iron This plaza that had once been my childhood stomping grounds 

Now I stood there, 

So much anger and guilt, my insides felt wrought too 

This American Dream turned to systemic letdown, 

I’m sorry this country didn’t do more. 

The feeling of having to hand over the loved one of a loved one, 

Because they can’t leave 

Because lack of business benefits 

Because legal status 

BECAUSE OUR COUNTRY DOESN’T CARE ENOUGH 

He flew from a different state to retrieve his father 

And as I handed him to his son, 

Transference of weight, 

We shared a moment that I hope in the future will not exist,

Where loved ones can cross country lines to be with each other in life, “en vida”, without borders and visas holding them back instead of carrying their ashes on our backs, Where our healthcare system gives quality treatment to all of their patients, even those of us who can’t advocate in English, 

Where we don’t have to be crying at a fucking Amelia’s because we lost someone. 

More pandemics will come 

And I hope we can learn, change 

Because saline sadness don’t belong on café y tacos 

And we are tired of tallying up lives, 

of bringing home people who should have had more years, 

More breathing, 

laughing, 

crying, 

and loving in the arms of their amor

Themes:

Community Connection & IsolationGrief & ChangeIdentity & Social ChangePoetry

Medium: Written

Author: Daniela Ortiz Mendez

Date Submitted: November 27, 2023

Bio:

Saludos to all. Daniela Ortiz Mendez (they/them/ellx) is a writer based in Oregon. You can learn more about them by visiting https://danielaortizmendez.com/

Tlazocamati ♥

Written Story by CJ Smith

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Covid

Outside of my windows live trees 

They continue as 

Seasons march on with vibrancy of autumn 

Bare branches scratch at a wintry gray sky 

Then comes citrine buds and pop they open 

Inside leaves stretch and open wide 

I think of my bedroom as a child-wished treehouse 

Yet along comes a virus, virulent and dread 

It can’t stop the trees outside my window 

It can’t stop the seasons from changing 

Still its morbid threat stops me 

Stops me from walking freely out into the seasons 

The seasons go on and my trees go on 

But immune suppressed I do not 

My room provides me with safety 

Will keep me safe until people start to see 

Covid needs to stop 

Its grasping arms outstretched 

Needs to not limit me anymore

 

Themes:

AbleismCommunity Connection & IsolationDisability/ImmunocompromisedGrief & ChangeMental Health/WellbeingPoetry

Medium: Written

Author: CJ Smith

Date Submitted: November 22, 2023

Bio:

CJ Smith is a writer who is immunocompromised/disabled.