COVID Congress

A poem by Missy Malverde.

Insect traces on your windowsill,

Viral traces on your cell,

It looms near 

But all they share is fear. 

Claw marks on your flagstone gates,

The metal lock dented 

From screeching remarks,

The heads barking

The headlines jousting

Children needing food

People needing to breathe

But no one is coming.

A hand slowly unclenches

Revealing an empty palm 

Of crossed lines with predestined chaos 

And the stench of a crusted black residue of hope

Smearing over your dew tangled eyelashes.

Just please let me hide

I beg for just one day,

Alienated from others

Yet smothered by the reaper’s pillow,

He lives in marble halls with a grand staircase and open balcony,

He overlooks as they do for him.

You observe alone 

Following the Heart of Darkness

From behind a screen

Afraid on a sinking plaid couch 

Paralyzed on a leather armchair

As it sets in,

It sets in

No one is coming. 

---

Missy Malverde

Missy Malverde lives in subrural America with her life partner, raising their loving and discerning child. An anti-capitalist from the land of Sandino, her heart is a writer and her mask is a lawyer, somewhere in between she gardens, studies tarot and organizes in her community.