Song of the Pandemic
“Now I am terrified at the Earth, it is that calm and patient,
It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions,
It turns harmless and stainless upon its axis, with such endless
successions of diseas’d corpses.” - Walt Whitman
Only four weeks since stores, schools, and restaurants shut down,
since streets, bridges, and tunnels have become vast, open spaces,
and people have ceased standing side by side on subway platforms or
walking within inches of each other on sidewalks.
Only four weeks since we have retreated to our railroad apartments, highrises, and single-family homes,
since the threat of this virus has flooded our waking and sleeping hours.
How long will this road of isolation and six-foot separation be?
How long will we be sequestered from aging parents, friends, colleagues, neighbors, food servers, baristas, mechanics, ticket sellers, street vendors, museum educators?
How many more thousands of people will have to succumb to this disease,
will shiver, cough, quake, or lose their breath to it?
How can we find joy when we are separated by barriers: face masks, income gaps, air, windows and walls, our own dark clouds?
Fearing each other’s droplets, close contact, invisible contagion,
how can we continue to connect?
In a time where medical staff, hospital workers, first-responders
are fighting to keep people alive and often losing their own lives,
where weddings are cancelled, births threatened,
how can we keep despair from making us self-destruct?
At home, son and daughter fight over headphones, attack each other
With words, with “you’re always so mean”, “you’re always so selfish”.
They slam doors, kick walls, blame the other.
How can we find harmony in our homes day after day of quarantine?
What would Whitman write during this pandemic?
Would he write a Song for Covid-19?
Would he find a way to celebrate himself and all other city dwellers?
Perhaps this can help save us. To write a song.
For the brook that dazzles in the sun,
the box turtles resting on boulders and tree roots.
For the full cherry blossoms bowing to the wind,
the rain tapping against the glass,
robins and sparrows pecking in the grass.
For each nurse and doctor tending to the sick.
the ambulances that transport them to hospitals,
the oxygen and ventilators helping them breathe.
For each fire fighter and police officer who risks their lives
for civilians’ safety.
Let’s sing to grocery stores and grocers.
After two and a half hours of waiting on line at the food co-op,
I was able to fill my cart with oranges, carrots, spinach, bananas
almond butter, hemp milk, berries, tortilla chips, and scores more.
This song is for all those stockers, cashiers, farmers, factory workers, truckers, and innovators that contributed to this possibility.
For delivery workers and all the items that arrive at our doors.
The routers, wi-fi, laptops, various computer programs,
communication technology and all who run them.
For epidemiologists, journalists, and specialists
who inform the people of this disease.
Let’s sing hope for immunity and rebirth,
restoration of health and work,
for meals for the hungry.
Hope for a new leader who will seek truth and unity for all
and solutions rather than scapegoats.
Despite loss, suffering, and barriers,
we are connected by our fundamental needs of love and life.
Our existence is global, bound by borders,
but we don’t need to be divided.
We will not be taken down by a disease.
Instead we will write songs of praise for heart, laughter, sun, and soil,
Our collective pulse reverberates across hospital floors, cemeteries,
virtual classrooms, homes, and all the spaces we inhabit.
Brook at Clove Lakes Park during this morning's walk with the dog
