Writer and painter Chath pierSath, a regular contributor to our blog, works on a farm in Bolton, Mass.
The Saddest First Day of Spring
By Chath pierSath
The saddest, grayest first day of spring I’ve seen,
Watching for the virus that has gone viral,
Invisible particles unleashed in space
On the loneliest Earth in the Milky Way,
Her particles whistling at light-speed,
Our blue dot’s population trying to hang on.
Infection, think isolation & separation,
Not even an interest in Facebook or Twitter.
Distancing the saddest of the sad,
The grayest of gray,
Stockpiling greed, weapons of economic winners
And losers, mass destruction,
The heart melting down.
Arriving, the long-awaited apocalypse,
The day of the walking dead,
Robots and zombies are
Here on Earth beneath lonely sky,
Air full of viruses.
Each body a potential host
In every cell and in every blood
In need of other blood
A risk of strange inhabitation,
A churning of the milk,
A colonization, a takeover,
This death not knowing when
And how, this imperfect doubt
About where to be and go—while the powerful
Take command from some chamber
Tube channel telling us
What to do, what to see,
& where to hide for the greater good.
Social distancing, farming in the sun,
Here on lonely Earth of unpredictable weather,
Climate changing, market ahead
Without people to eat the fruit
And vegetables, when real
Spring does come,
And planting starts—we labor still.
Every waking morning,
Loneliness, empty sky,
Saddest earth, isolating farther from the sun,
A dangerous earth—life inhabits alongside death.
With this awareness,
Shall we breathe everything into our lungs,
Even the virus that may harm us, to know what really matters.
–Chath pierSath (2020)