Rain in Quarantine

translated from my original in Spanish

This is how my ancestors lived,

I think; as I tend seed beds

and wash shirts in a bucket

with a stick. The land is dust,

every drop of water, precious.

I wash a fork and use that water

for 20 seedlings, 3 colors

of lettuce. In the realm where

family is king and togetherness,

religion; I am easy to overlook.

The Outsider; I travel to town

to feel the accusing glances:

You brought this here; and I want

to scream, no I did not. You did.

A virus thrives in dry, in dust.

You did. We all did.

A virus thrives where land

is destroyed, green things,

turned to dust. It transmits in drought.

We made that decision when

we killed too much that was alive.

You made that decision with

the closure of research centers.

Curiosity, the desire to know more

than daily consumption, is the

cradle of civilization. The

creation of ideas.

Cut the tree, the land dies.

Eliminate compassion, replace

love with suspicion; the soul of

any place, withers and dies,

like so many green leaves choked

in dust and waiting for tending.

I too, want tending. To be held.

Reassured, not even that I

will live. But that I matter.

A land puts down its activity

and holds its loved ones

a little closer, a little tighter.

We wait for what our grandparents

called, relief. We wait for dawn.

We wait for someone to find

a cure. To say, “resume normal,

go forth and make joyful noise

unto the lord, once more.”

We may not know what to

call it, but we all know how to

feel the drops of emergence

on our upturned faces. Like so many

lettuces, like untended roses.

We all need to be free of the dust

of human failing, human fear. 

We all pray for some kind of rain.

 

Author's Note

photo is my own

Reviews

[Vertigo Cat1111]

Gorgeous photo and gorgeous poem! I love this one, and we all need relief. The way you used the rain to describe that is perfect. It all feels like we're suffocating, like dry heat, but I believe the rain is on its way.