Listen. I can’t explain what we’ve been through.
This year of isolation has made us slightly mad.
All of us wishing we could sleep a hundred days
in the crease of a rugged mountain and wake
somehow stronger than before we were given
. . . . . .To survive learning the hard way isn’t a joke.
We look out our windows, full of whatever
weather is happening, and dream of being
swept up by a steady wind that comes from
far away. We think this is a good plan—we
want to be safe but stand ready with our next
move. We’re living behind masks. All anyone
sees is our pupils—those corridors, narrowing
or dilating in response to what we need to do.
Whose plan was that?
Someone who stays up late into the night.
Someone who promises everything will be perfect.
Someone who believes you have what you need.
Listen. We are not ones to say: all bets are off.
by M.J. Iuppa
Editor’s Note: The speaker’s voice in this poem is strong and direct, drawing the reader into the imagery that describes the unbalance people feel while living through a difficult time in history.
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