the beat
of a one-winged butterfly ...
my masked deaf friend
My dear Friends:
Today marks three years since the World Health Organization declared COVID-19 a pandemic. I would like to share with you the following poems to explore the impact of Covid-19 on both the socio-economic landscape and minority or vulnerable groups
10th Entry, March 2, 2020
nursing home silhouette
I air high-five my old friend
at the window
44th Entry, May 2,2020
a tired nurse
opens the bedside window
my friend's voice
flows in with the night breeze
as his mother's eyes close
masked, in the snow
we walk silently
toward each other ...
the white man raising his hand
to shield his mouth and nose
Ribbons, 18:3, Fall 2022
an uptick
in new variant cases
another
Asian-looking old man
knocked to the muddy ground
The Blo͞o Outlier Journal, 2, Summer, 2021
64th Entry, May 19 2020
a food bank lineup
curls around the street corner
the silence
of my friend looking at the ground
and me staring at the sky
Epidemics, Seen and Unseen
seagulls squabble
in the food court parking lot
second lockdown
needles scattered
around the dumpster
mud-stained masks
snowstorm ...
one after another
new variants
highest jump in cases
the Homeless Jesus Statue
lies on the sidewalk
Modern Haiku, 52:2, 2021
339th Entry, May 6 2022
one million
deaths once unfathomable...
unmasked shoppers
drown out the sound of news
with chatter and laughter
Another Stretch of Time
There were no excited voices begging me to open presents on the stroke of midnight on Christmas Day. Instead, my children watched movies through to morning in the basement with my wife. It took little exertion to exhaust me, and then I became angry at them.
frayed edges
of a vaccine banner
cases on the rampage
Since the virus moved in with me four months ago, my daily routine changed drastically. I constantly felt as if I were wrapped in a lead blanket, and it became challenging for me to get out of bed. After getting up, it took me more than ninety minutes to get ready for the start of every workday from home. Throughout the day, I took longer and more frequent breaks to boost my energy. After lunch, I would take a walk to refresh my mind. But sometimes I gave up halfway through the walk because I was sapped of strength. It felt like moving along carrying a load of bricks. I used to be a marathon runner, but now I couldn't walk more than nine or ten blocks.
Today is the 100th day after my discharge from hospital. After zooming and emailing for hours, I can't wait to crawl into bed early and get some sleep. Sitting at my bedside with a penetrating gaze, my wife speaks in a soft and calm voice,"When you can't do it alone, maybe it's time to reconnect with your childhood beliefs."
steep steps to a shrine
against the cloudless sky
one step at a time
Drifting Sands, 14, March 2022
to be continued ...
