my version of "chronicling corona"

long story short, it seems the world doesn't move, but it does. since my last rant, my neighbourhood has officially become the covid-19 hotspot of Montreal, which in its turn is the hotspot of Quebec, which in its turn, you get the idea. we live 5 minutes away from a string of seniors' residences (along the river), of which one has become famous for having so many cases among both residents and staff that i can read articles about it on local sites every day.

so, that's amazing. somehow the city seems to be going on with the plans for deconfinement by May 25th (used to be 19th, but they keep postponing, so -), even if the number of cases seems to be rising instead of falling... on June 1st daycares are supposed to open, but because i'm pregnant they won't accept Rada back. schools in Greater Montreal are closed until the fall, so no work for me. On the one hand, it seems our personal situation will stay the same until...i deliver (aaaagh!), but on the other hand the stress and the overall progress of this depend so much on the others and their movements, literally.

if i didn't look at numbers all day (my fault, i know!) i could never suspect there's much amiss in the neighbourhood, which maybe is part of the problem? (i.e. we went to the park one sunny Saturday and it was full of people - not elbowing each other as they would have last year, but still...lots of people running around, no masks etc, blah). but generally, as i walk with the toddler every day, we do respectful slaloms at street corners and nothing looks very dangerous. which prompted this description :

everyone i see
is either wearing a mask
or running away from me.


getting to the point - i used to have a small writing group, which met once every two weeks in a pub downtown. since lockdown, we've obviously moved to zoom, and trying to do weekly meetings. i swear that every poem i see from every one of us can be read as a "coronavirus poem", even when it wasn't intended (and mostly people don't intend it, because honestly there are still other things in the world to unpack). so to counter it i've done a couple of really bad really obvious corona poems, with the goal of getting it out of the way.

the first was a form poem prompt, and i don't do well with forms, i.e. it's very easy for me to versify, and hard to convey any sentiment in formal rhythm and rhyme. this specific one is a rhyme royal, going ababbcc, in iambic pentameter.
and the tone and content are also very classic, i find - so there:

(Corona Royal)

I try to live my life the usual way

despite the sudden tumult of the world:

locked in my house, I bake and clean and pray

and struggle to abide by what I’m told

and think about the shelterless and old

and only check the death counts late at night

and count myself so lucky in my plight

for all I’ve got to lose. Time’s standing still

so I can search the corners of my mind

for memories and long-forgotten thrills

for myths that move me, stories that spellbind.

It is a privilege to try and find

as one more blessing in these somber times

that I can shape my fears and joys in rhymes.

the other one was me being annoyed with Easter and the whole hullaballoo around it; also with the "ca va bien aller" sentiment, because yes, ok, at some point this will pass, but that's not an excuse for writing sentimental crap all over the internet (latest example i raged at, philosopher/writer father writes article about what a blessing it is to be quarantined with his 9 month-old baby. i would like to know how much of the baby care duties he's taking on.)

Lockdown

We watch the wind eat the dry snow

and expose the corrugated ice below.

It will take time, they say of this

paralysis, it will take all we’ve got

after the baking and oversharing

and rainbow pictures have quieted down.

It was connection that undid us, they

say, words and touch that curdled the air.

Now we hold a long breath

under a panic-purchase mask.

Waiting for spring was a warm impatient

tingle; this one, cold down the spine.

But oh, we’ll be back with a vengeance

even more ravenous for the world

like the devout flocking to confession

on Easter week, emboldened by fasting

to devour the body of Christ

from the communal spoon.