Pandemic Poems - APRIL 2020
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
Bio Note: Born in Mexico, I live in California, and work in the mental health field in Los Angeles. I have published poetry for the past three decades or so and have work appearing online and in print.
Masked Men and Women
The masked men and women drive around in fear of the end of life as they know it. They were first in line to get those masks. They are afraid just like everyone. No one knows who will be the first to get it, the one disease everyone knows about, that was not thought about last year. Who will save us all?
You Are Not Alone
If you don’t know what to do, you are not alone. I won’t lie to you and that is the truth. It is quite alright to feel that way. It is not like anyone has the cure. If it makes you feel better, I have found things to do to pass the time. The most powerful man in the world will not save you from oblivion. I have never bought into his lies. Protect yourself by tuning out to his face on your tv screen. It is easy. You can leave the house to buy food. Life as we know it is not the same. This is not the time to empty out the toilet paper aisle. Take a breath. Take two breaths. Feel the softness of your pillow and take a good nap. The time will go by fast. Have a cold drink and smell the roses or the food you prepare. Keep long distances from others. Don’t lose your car keys in case you want to take a drive. The oblivion that is coming may or may not come to you. I am pulling for you.
The day buzzed on. The sun was a mere fixture. The streets were empty. The cars stayed parked. Still signs of life. The wind blew the tree back and forth. Still on the couch I could not feel the air. I talked to myself. I went from one room to another to find room to think. Both rooms were a bit small with a world inside falling apart. My poor memory was lost under my feet. I stepped on it walking in a straight line. The doors opened and air came inside. The house was alive with chilled air. I stopped talking and welcomed the air. It was an endless kind of air. My side ached from the cold air. The empty room was full of air. Almost everything was air. What could I say to make the air go away? Open the door once again? The door was as solid as the air. I waited an hour to shape my thoughts. The air went out of the room but it still felt cold. My side ached. A finger tip was frozen. I felt it going limp, weightless, until I passed out, and closed my eyes. Now the air left its mark in each room. From the couch I slept with my dreams, and body cold as as corpse. The sun was a mere fixture outside. I was upside down buried in sleep. I could not feel a thing. The branches outside recoiled from the cold air. My body was immobilized in this space so cold. The air made an icicle of me. The air was in my dream building ice sculptures of me and scattering them like snowflakes. The air felled the tree outside. Now the air was in my thoughts talking to me.
©2020 Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell her or him. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL