4/6/20 (a poem)
They say unprecedented times
require an unprecedented response
but I’m sorry, I’ve already tried
“not being depressed” and it doesn’t
work for me. I can run and do yoga
and sit in the sun reading books
about Judaism and revolution and still
feel the weight of a grief I’ve felt
my whole life, finally made manifest.
I forgot to eat again—and I wonder
why I’m losing so much weight.
If I can finish this poem in the space
between boiling water and finished
noodles I can tell myself I did something
today, as if a poem is enough
to sharpen the blur of days spent crying
and watching The Next Generation.
I slipped a reference to something I like
into this poem to give it the appearance
of a poem by me, but it’s a pandemic
episode where everyone survives,
and it’s hard to enjoy something
as farfetched as survival. I survived
the day, which is to say I spent it
alone. From a window downtown
I saw a man who runs a food truck
handing hot dogs and a beer
to a homeless man—how can I be
satisfied with survival? Did you know
that Isaac Newton discovered
mathematics while under quarantine
from the Great Plague? Today I took
two hours to drink a Coke Zero; the Year
of Wonders had nothing on its taste.