COVID Poetry / Living Through a Pandemic

In late 2019, COVID-19 emerged as the most significant public health threat in modern history. Many were told to stay-in-place, leaving millions across the globe feeling isolated and fearful of the future. The pandemic inspired some to write poetry to express what was otherwise ineffable. One such person is Kitty O’Meara, who reflects on her poem, And the People Stayed Home, by saying, “We have gifts. It’s a good reminder that whatever your gift is, and however small it is, keep using it. This is a really good time for that.”

Tammi Miller, Untitled, acrylic on paper, 2020 — Tammi Miller, *Untitled*, acrylic on paper, 2020

Self Distant / Tammi Miller

Isolation is depression's friend, they've both come to greet me once again.
I'm unable to leave, forced to stay, I fight against these fiends every day.
I've been told that this gray plague won't last, remain separate, this too shall pass.
But as I sit safely inside my home, I feel invisible and so alone.
How long would it take? To notice me gone?
I shake away such thoughts, knowing they're wrong.
I remind myself of my own self-worth as I sit away from the rest of Earth.

Tammi Miller is a poet and writer from Tennessee. The COVID-19 outbreak left her sheltering in place with her autistic son. She believes that mental health is something to be constantly aware of. The outbreak ravaging the world takes more lives than just those infected with the virus.

how to self-isolate / Tamar Ashdot

Tamar Ashdot has a passion for poetry that began at a young age, but was truly solidified when she pursued a Bachelor’s degree in Creative Writing at Binghamton University. While studying, Tamar was awarded the Academy of American Poets College Prize in 2016 and 2018, as well as the Andrew Bergman Creative Writing Award in 2015 and 2016.

Before graduating in May 2018, Tamar wrote a creative honors thesis in the form of a chapbook-length collection of poetry, which was selected for the University’s Best Honors Thesis in English Award. Tamar's work has been published in The New York Times, Z Publishing House's Best Emerging Poets Anthology, and The Paterson Literary Review.

shell 800 pistachios
caramelize 24 sticks of butter with 72 cups of sugar
plant 50 seeds and nurture 15 sprouts
dance together and make love on the floor
cry as the ceiling changes colors
and makes a whole world in your apartment
paint your hair pink and pull it out of the drain
follow the lines of your eyes and color them black
peel a piece of your index finger instead of potato skin
break new plates and crack old nails
poke holes with threaded embroidery needles
breathe slowly and enter into acceptance
trace grooves of grief and scar tissue
and trust time will make you smooth again.

Viruselle-19 / Bob Dougherty

Sanitize your hands until they turn red.
Pretend you’re a clam and live in a shell.
Practice social distancing or you’re dead.
Is this a nightmare and are you in bed?
You are very awake — and this is hell.
Sanitize your hands until they turn red.
You look for the truth but can’t find a shred.
Partisan deceit makes you want to yell.
Practice social distancing or you’re dead.
Foreclosure of freedom can stop the spread,
but we’ll be enslaved by a single cell.
Sanitize your hands until they turn red.
You’re beginning to doubt what you have read,
another doomsday — another bombshell.
Practice social distancing or you’re dead.
Have you started to think we’ve been misled
to crush our country — this virus to quell?
Sanitize your hands until they turn red.
Practice social distancing or you’re dead.

Bob Dougherty, poet, 76, lives in Tiburon.

Light Tunnel / Brooke Laur

Being alone is cold
For all my friends are leaping sparks
I miss when the air would hold our laughter
Like honey misses it’s bees,
Yet I know
Our heroes who are
Fighting a merciless monster
Need us to persist up the broken stair.
So when I close my eyes
and hit the hay
I dream of safe corners
And landings
Far far away.
Yet I still awake
Every day from paradise
Into a different planet
Which smells of bleach and latex gloves
I miss restaurants and the smooth leather chairs,
But our heroes
Stay fighting,
and my hope shall light their way.
So when I close my eyes
And hit the hay
At first there is dark,
Then a tunnel at the end of May.

Brooke Laur started writing poetry three years ago, at age 11. At first, she wrote poetry to help express the emotions that she found hard to talk about with other people. As she grew older, Brooke started reading Maya Angelou, Pablo Neruda, Sir Phillip Sidney, and Shakespeare.

Some of Brooke’s favorite forms of poetry include free verse and sonnets. She says, “I hope to continue writing poems and eventually becoming really, really good at poetry until I die.” One day, she hopes to become a well-known poet and have the whole world know her name.